


ANDROMEDA

by andreil



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Drake Spear is a character for a short period of time, Fake Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, childhood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreil/pseuds/andreil
Summary: Youth is when the soul grows - when pain becomes real and love diminishes. But friendship makes youth easier. Lighter.An AU where Nathaniel Wesninski and Andrew Minyard grow up as best friends.





	1. PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is loosely based off the Gorillaz song, the mythology, and the galaxy. It has a whole lot of different meanings. 
> 
> 4/13/18 update: I edited a few mistakes in PART 1. PART 2 is coming soon.

They met in the second grade.

Nathaniel was, if anything, friendly enough. But he was clearly standoffish, occasionally shy, and rarely (but enough so for it to be a trait) hostile.

Andrew was, if anything, unfriendly. There were moments of kindness, of helpfulness upon his peers, but his teachers knew him as a stand-alone kid. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t like to talk. He wasn’t mean, he was just a kid who found comfort in the quiet.

On the day that became That Day, no car picked Nathaniel up after school. He waited near the big tree in the nice park like he always did, but after a certain amount of time it was clear no one was coming. If he tried hard enough, he could remember how to get home. He had a few crackers and a juice pack in his backpack. Nathaniel didn’t know much about the distance of miles, but his house was only a five minute drive by car. It couldn’t be that far away.

Except it was spring time and the sun was high and blaring and after only twenty minutes, he was tired. His face felt hot. He wondered if he’d get a sunburn from this.

This could be a test. His father could have easily been testing his survival skills. But Nathaniel had very little stamina. He spent his days between school and home. That was it. There were no clubs or sports he was apart of. His father claimed those were a waste of time.

Lost in his own blur of thought, Nathaniel blinked in the sun’s blaze only to see one of his classmates sitting outside a house as he passed. The classmate was blond and expressionless. Nathaniel knew him as Andrew. He knew everyone’s names in his class - his father always told him to be aware of his surroundings.

Nathaniel wouldn’t have stopped if Andrew hadn’t been eating the red ice of a stick popsicle. Nathaniel practically drooled. He stopped by the kid’s driveway and stared.

Andrew stared back at him. Actually, he kind of stared through him. Nathaniel didn’t mind much.

“Hi,” Nathaniel greeted.

Andrew blinked at him. “Hi.”

“Do you have more of those?” He indicated toward the icy popsicle.

Andrew looked down at the cold snack, then looked up. “Yeah, but you can’t have a red. Those are my favorite.”

Nathaniel felt himself bounce on his toes in excitement. “Anything is fine!”

Andrew stood up as he ate away at the ice and went back inside. He came back out with a blue one in his hand. 

“Here,” he said.

Nathaniel used his teeth to rip open the plastic and then he pushed a large block of the ice into his mouth. He sat down on the neat grass beside the driveway. “Thanks. These are so good,” Nathaniel said. “My favorite ice cream, though, are those cookie sandwiches with the cookie on the top and bottom and the vanilla ice cream in the middle.”

Andrew sat down beside him but said nothing.

Nathaniel asked, “What’s your favorite?”

Andrew shrugged. “I like everything. My favorite flavor is chocolate, though.”

“Bleh. Too sweet.”

“You don’t like sweets?”

“I do, but if they’re too sweet, then that’s too much sweetness. You know?”

“No.”

“That’s okay,” Nathaniel said. He stuck out his tongue and pointed. “Those are where our tastebuds are. I heard that they change every few years. Maybe when I’m older I’ll like really sweet stuff.”

“That’s a myth,” Andrew said.

“Nuh-uh. I read it in a book.”

“You said you heard it.”

Nathaniel took a bite of the popsicle. “Well, I read it. I know a lot about the human body.”

“Yeah?” Andrew asked. He sounded interested. “Like what?”

“Like… we have 206 bones in our bodies.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“What else?” Andrew asked.

“Um…” Nathaniel tried to think, but he couldn’t remember everything on the spot. “I can’t remember it all.” 

“That’s okay.”

For a minute, they silently crunched on the popsicles. Andrew finished his and set it on the floor. 

“Want another one?” he offered.

Nathaniel shook his head as he finished his own treat. “Nah. My dad probably wants me home by now. I was just really hot ‘cause I had to walk.”

“Oh,” Andrew replied.

They stood for a moment. Nathaniel looked at the plastic wrapper in his hand and grinned. “You’re really nice, Andrew.” When Andrew didn’t reply, Nathaniel simply lifted his hand to wave. “Bye! See you tomorrow!”

And he did. They kept having conversations in school, and then they talked after school. Nathaniel learned more facts about the human body and told them all to Andrew. Andrew shared his good snacks with Nathaniel. The teacher was surprised that her two quietest students were suddenly friendly with one another, but besides that, no one really asked them about it. 

Nathaniel kept the newfound friendship a secret from his dad, though. It was not something Nathan would enjoy.

On the very last day of second grade, Nathaniel saw Andrew walking his bike past the park. He was waiting to be picked up, but he felt bold enough to call out.

Andrew stopped at the sound of his name and headed in Nathaniel’s direction.

“You can ride a bike?” Nathaniel asked, clearly excited.

“Yeah, I taught myself.”

“No way, that’s so cool.” No one had ever taught Nathaniel. “Can you teach me?”

Andrew stood tall, like he was confident as could be. “Of course. Want to right now?”

A dark black car pulled up and a man stepped outside of it. He squinted at the youngest Wesninski. “Nathaniel,” he called.

Nathaniel looked at Andrew and spoke quickly. “I’ll try to sneak out tomorrow or Sunday and then I’ll come over to your house.”

Andrew nodded. He waved slightly as the dark, slick car drove away.

It was Sunday afternoon when Nathaniel finally made it to Andrew’s house, sweaty and grinning.

And for once, Andrew had grinned back at him.

 

They’re nine when Nathaniel gets smacked by a hot iron. 

He doesn’t tell anyone, like always. His mom had tried to attend to it, but there wasn’t much to be done except using ice to cool the burn. The incident had already happened. His skin had an ugly, red burn.

Nathaniel had learned his lesson.

As time went on and Nathaniel got older, the wounds were a more common occurrence. A slap here and there for disobedience. A knife here or there for harming the Wesninski family name. He knew better than to act out in public, and he knew better than to fidget in front of an agent.

Sure, he was only nine, but he knew more than most.

Two days after that during recess, as Andrew sat to the side in a wide patch of grass, Nathaniel was swinging on the jungle gym’s bars. Like nothing, his palm slipped, and he fell on his back into the mulch.

Andrew scoffed. “You’re so clumsy. That’s why I keep telling you basketball is more fun than the jungle gym.”

But Nathaniel didn’t get up. He was gasping as pain flicked through-out his body. He gripped his shoulder, tightening his grip on it, as if that would stop the pain. Panicked eyes scanned the grounds for his teacher, who was thankfully not paying attention. He rolled over quickly and stood, stumbling a bit in the mulch.

Andrew was by his side. He reached out a helping hand. “Nathaniel, are you okay?” he asked.

Nathaniel pulled away from his grip. He felt small. He felt things which his vocabulary couldn’t yet explain. He laughed and wiped at his pants. His palms were sweaty.

“I’m good! Andrew, you worry too much. Just fell too hard.”

“Oh. Maybe you should go see the nurse…”

“No!” Nathaniel exclaimed, then clamped his mouth shut and tried to relax the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t need to. Drop it.”

“Fine,” Andrew said, and walked away.

Nathaniel watched his back with a frown. 

 

Nathaniel walked to Andrew’s house after school. Despite now knowing how to ride a bike, courtesy of Andrew’s lessons, Nathaniel’s parents had never bought him a present in his life. Only the necessities were gifted to him despite their wealth: clothes and food. A notebook and a pencil for school. A bed and a dresser. Bathroom necessities. There wasn’t much else.

A bike was certainly out of the question.

Andrew’s house was a large two-story home. It was white with black window frames and a red roof. He knocked on the front door with the contents he bought from the convenience store. A man opened the door. 

“Is Andrew home?” Nathaniel asked.

The man narrowed his eyes, then called out. “Andrew! Someone’s here for you!”

There was chattering upstairs. A child ran across the hallway behind the man. Andrew came down the stairs and looked at Nathaniel.

“Can he come to my room?” he asked the man.

The man shrugged. “Sure.”

So that’s how he got to see Andrew’s room for the first time. There were a ton of rooms, it seemed. Maybe three or four. Andrew’s was in the middle of the hallway. His door was not decorated like the others around him. Inside, there was a bed with blue sheets, a wooden desk, a wooden dresser, and a white-doored closet.

Nathaniel stood in the middle of the room while Andrew closed the door and sat on the bed.

“I brought you some candy,” Nathaniel said. He handed it over.

Andrew looked inside and pulled out a chocolate bar immediately. “Cool.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings.”

Andrew shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Oh. Who’re the other kids, then?”

“It’s a foster home, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel scratched his nose. “What’s that?”

“I don’t have parents.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And most of the other kids don’t, either. Two adults take care of us in this house.”

Nathaniel sat on the carpeted floor. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Andrew looked at him. “You don’t tell me things, either.”

Nathaniel looked down, feeling guilty. “I know. Sorry.” Just to keep himself occupied, he went inside the plastic bag and grabbed himself a packet of Skittles. Andrew slid on the floor across from him and kept the bag between them.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

That was a hard question. Nathaniel did, he really did. He wanted to tell someone. No. He wanted to tell Andrew. But his father had trained him to keep secrets, as had his mother. 

“You’re my best friend, Andrew. Did you know that?”

Andrew’s eyes widened a little bit. He shook his head.

Nathaniel continued. “I’ve never had a best friend before. I don’t want to lie to you. I know lying is bad. But I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed.”

“I understand,” Andrew started. “But if you told me, I’d never tell anyone. It’s… not good to keep things in.”

Nathaniel considered this. He knew Andrew was right. He agreed. But he still couldn’t tell him everything. So he said, as quietly as he could, “My father’s a bad man.”

“Does he hurt you?”

Nathaniel paused. “Sometimes.”

Andrew was silent for a little while. His face looked angry. But they both knew there wasn’t much to say. Nathaniel told him this secret in confidence.

After a bit, Andrew said. “Wanna do a puzzle?”

Nathaniel immediately perked up. They started a thousand piece puzzle while snacking. They asked each other mindless questions while they tried to fit the pieces together. After a few hours, Nathaniel had to go home. Andrew left the puzzle out so they could finish it together another day. 

 

When they were thirteen, Andrew moved to another foster home. He was still close, just not in walking distance for Nathaniel. They went to the same middle school. They had a few classes together, and they made sure to eat lunch together, but it was hard to find time to hang out. Andrew’s new house was too far of a walk, and Nathaniel wasn’t allowed to have guests.

Sometimes, only when Nathan Wesninski was out for a business trip, Nathaniel would tell Andrew to meet him at a park. They’d talk until it became too late, and they were forced to part.

Andrew became quieter and meaner, though not to Nathaniel. Other students knew not to talk to him. Teachers were cautious around him. 

In the middle of eighth grade, Nathaniel heard a rumor about a fight Andrew had gotten into. 

He caught up with Andrew after school. “Let’s ride to the park.”

Andrew regarded him with silence but let Nathaniel get on the back of his bike. He pedaled in silence, with Nathaniel’s hands on his shoulders. The air was fresh and crisp. Despite Andrew’s rigid disposition, Nathaniel felt comfortable around him. It was these moments that allowed him to relax.

He jumped off the bike as it slowed to a stop and walked over to the large bark of a tree. The two sat beneath it, Andrew as reluctant as always.

“What’s up?” Nathaniel asked.

Andrew rose his eyebrows. “What?”

“Well, you don’t look hurt, so I’m assuming you won whatever fight you were in.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Nathaniel huffed. “Fine. I’m just saying, whoever it was probably deserved it.”

Andrew looked at him but didn’t say anything. Nathaniel put his legs in Andrew’s lap. “I mean, you wouldn’t just jump someone. It’s not like anyone would be stupid enough to jump you, either. So they probably said something really stupid.”

Andrew left his expression blank. “I’m not talking about it.”

“You’re such a grump.”

“Whatever.” 

They sat there for a bit, the sun tickling across their skin, which for the most part was covered by the tree’s shade. Nathaniel looked at Andrew’s arms, which were now always covered in long sleeves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Andrew wearing a t-shirt. It was just one of those things Nathaniel had accepted. That was their friendship. Seeing and accepting without forcing out an answer.

Nathaniel reached out for Andrew’s hand and held onto it. Andrew let him.

“Have I ever told you that I hate my name?” 

Andrew looked a little surprised. “No.”

“I do. My father’s name is Nathan… he gave me my name. It’s basically his way of saying I’m Nathan Junior.”

Andrew looked at their conjoined hands but didn’t reply. He always let Nathaniel tell things without questioning them.

Nathaniel continued and said, “I want to give you a name. My middle name… only my mom calls me it.”

“Okay,” Andrew said, and squeezed his hand.

“It’s Abram.”

“Abram,” Andrew repeated, soft, and the wind picked it up, rushing it past Nathaniel’s ears, making him smile as broadly as he could. He closed his eyes, feeling it echo within him.

When he opened his eyes, Andrew was looking at him. He broke the silence by asking, “Wanna get ice cream? I’ll buy,” to which Nathaniel of course agreed.

 

They’re fourteen when Nathaniel sees Andrew’s arms.

It’s a sleepover when Nathan Wesninski is out of town yet again. Andrew didn’t like Nathaniel coming to his new foster home, so Nathaniel had asked him over. He promised a quiet night and that’s exactly what they got. His mother didn’t appear throughout the whole night. Andrew brought over a puzzle because Nathaniel didn’t have a television. They ate popcorn and drank hot chocolate.

At night, the moon was a careful light against Nathaniel’s window. The curtains were open just a bit - just enough so that they could see each other’s outline.

They talked in the dark and adjusted to the dimness. 

Nathaniel told Andrew about his home life in small bits. Andrew already knew about the terrible father, the wealth, and the strict life Nathaniel led. But he told him about his mom, who tried to protect him in her own way. He told him about his dislike for knives. He told Andrew:

“I’m so glad I met you,” to which Andrew replied: “Shut up.” Nathaniel grinned in the dark.

Andrew opened up at times like this, though not about anything too personal. He told Nathaniel about his favorite things: yellow, sunrises, basketball. He told Nathaniel about his fear of heights. He asked Nathaniel when his dad would be gone next, and Nathaniel told him so they could plan another sleepover.

When the conversation grew quiet, Andrew turned over to look at Nathaniel, and Nathaniel did the same. They were both laying on the floor in bundles of comforters - Nathaniel had refused to sleep in his bed without Andrew, and Andrew claimed he didn’t like beds much.

They watched each other for a short minute. Andrew’s eyes closed soon after, though his breathing hadn’t steadied yet. He moved against the mess of blankets, and the long sleeve of his shirt rode up on his arm.

Nathaniel squinted at the skin. There was more than enough moonlight to empathize the harsh, red lines on Andrew’s skin. They were so dark and deep that he could clearly see a dozen or more.

His breath caught in his throat. Something dark swirled inside of him.

He said, “Andrew.”

Andrew opened his eyes in question.

Nathaniel’s voice was cold steel. “What’s that on your arm?”

Quick as lightening, Andrew moved the blanket over his arms. He messed around underneath it, as if he were adjusting his sleeves.

It had been almost two years since Andrew began wearing long sleeves.

So much pain and loneliness, and Nathaniel had never even noticed it.

Andrew said, “Ignore it,” in his no-nonsense voice, and Nathaniel snapped. He sat up and, despite knowing Andrew was sometimes iffy about touch, he yanked Andrew’s arm from beneath the comforter. His palm tightened against Andrew’s wrist. Andrew tried to shove him off, hitting Nathaniel’s chest, but Nathaniel was quicker. He lifted Andrew’s sleeve and felt the bumpy, coarse lines there.

Shock flowed through Nathaniel’s body. Andrew yanked his arm back and pulled himself away.

“I told you to ignore it!” Andrew snapped, genuinely angry.

“Is that why you wear long sleeves?” Nathaniel asked, completely ignoring Andrew’s anger. His body was shaking.

Andrew didn’t answer.

“How… how long have you been doing this for?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Stop it!” Nathaniel yelled. Andrew looked legitimately shocked by the outburst. Nathaniel’s voice was more mad than it had possibly ever been. “Stop trying to make it seem unimportant! You… you’re hurting yourself, Andrew! All this time.. I didn’t notice a thing! I was right here and I could’ve helped you!”

It felt like Nathaniel had failed him. His best friend, who put up with Nathaniel’s nonsense, who only spoke to Nathaniel and no other classmate, who didn’t have parents. 

And just like that, Nathaniel was crying. 

They sat there, the two of them, one holding his arm in defense, the other crying for something that was lost. 

“I didn’t know you were hurting,” Nathaniel sobbed. Andrew could only sit there, not saying anything. 

Eventually, the crying just became little hiccups. When Nathaniel was calmer he said, “Why do you do it, Andrew?”

“I won’t tell you.”

Nathaniel sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Is something happening at home? Or school?”

Andrew didn’t reply. Nathaniel wiped his nose on his shirt absentmindedly. He tried again.

“Can you stop?”

“I’m not sure.”

He took a moment to digest that information. He wouldn’t tell an adult, they both knew he wouldn’t. Andrew had already told Nathaniel that he distrusted all adults, including parents and teachers. There really wasn’t anyone he could tell without making Andrew more sad. No, not sad. Nathaniel had learned the word for a sadness this deep: it was depression.

“Are you depressed?” he asked.

Andrew sighed. “I don’t know, Nathaniel.”

“Then…” Nathaniel paused, unsure how to come to a solution. His chest inhaled sharply as an after effect of so much crying. “Will you try to call our house phone next time you feel like doing it? I promise to pick up if I’m home.”

Andrew regarded him with uncertainty. “I’ll... try to.”

Nathaniel sniffed again. “Okay.”

Another moment of silence passed. Andrew said, “Can we go to bed now?” And that broke the tiny spell. They laid back down and got back into the covers.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Nathaniel whispered, “But if you’re hurting, I want to know. It’s important.”

The room was silent for a bit, and then:

“Okay.”

 

And it worked, occasionally. 

Andrew would call, sometimes in the middle of the night, whispering to Nathaniel, telling him he was going to do it. Nathaniel would use all the words he knew, all the knowledge he had to try and explain to Andrew why he couldn’t. Why Andrew’s skin was important to him, why Andrew’s life was valuable, why he should put down the razor. Andrew would grit through his teeth that he was going to do it, and Nathaniel would push on and on and on.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

But that was a start.

 

When they were fifteen, Andrew invited Nathaniel to his foster home.

“No one’s going to be home,” Andrew said. “So we can use my T.V. to watch movies.”

“Really?” Nathaniel asked, excited for a change. “I don’t think I’ve… ever seen a movie.”

“I know. And it’s seriously weird. So we’re going to watch Jurassic Park.”

“The one with the dinosaurs? Didn’t you say that one’s your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said, though he had absolutely called it his favorite.

“Cool,” Nathaniel replied. “Can we also watch the one about the sinking boat?”

“Titanic?”

“Yeah.”

Andrew considered. “Okay. But it’s kinda long.”

“That’s fine.” Then Nathaniel exclaimed, “Wait, no! I want to watch The Lion King. Everyone’s always singing the songs.”

“Okay. We can watch Titanic another time.”

Nathaniel smiled widely at the promise. “Deal.”

After school earlier that day, the two of them had picked up a few snacks at a local convenience store. Andrew, as always, got a bunch of chocolate and candy, while Nathaniel got more neutral snacks, such as peanuts and popcorn. When they got to the house, the two of them got blankets from Andrew’s room and got comfortable on the couch. 

This home was definitely smaller than Andrew’s last foster home, but it was still nice. It was only one floor and it seemed to only have three or four rooms. When Nathaniel had asked him if there were other kids living here, Andrew had simply replied, “Just one.” Besides that, Andrew didn’t talk much about his foster homes, and Nathaniel didn’t force him to. 

Today, he was more than happy to be visiting Andrew for once, and even happier that they could hang out alone. Throughout the years, Andrew had grown much more irritable toward others. He became hostile and sometimes violent. He’d get detention more than any other kid in their class. Yet he still spoke to Nathaniel, opened up to him when he could, and Nathaniel couldn’t be more thankful.

The movie was interesting. Nathaniel found his focus on the screen the whole time. The dinosaurs looked realistic and the music kept him on the edge of his seat. He ate through a whole bag of popcorn by the movie’s halfway mark.

He could see Andrew looking over at him every few minutes, but he didn’t question it.

When the movie hit a climax and Nathaniel was staring intently at the screen, so incredibly fascinated, he felt Andrew’s hand find his between the blankets.

Nathaniel looked over at him and smiled.

Andrew said, “Watch the screen, idiot, this is important.”

The movie eventually ended, but that didn’t stop Nathaniel’s excitement. 

“That was so good!” he said as the credits rolled, the music strong and thumping throughout the living room.

“Right?” Andrew replied, and for once his voice didn’t lack excitement. He got up, unfortunately untwisting their hands, and went to change out the DVDs. They talked a little bit about the movie as they began to get settled again, but a noise at the front door startled them into silence.

Andrew was frozen. The key in the lock turned aggressively and the front door slid open against the tiled floor.

A tall, buff young man entered the room. He had the ugliest sneer on his face. The sneer went from annoyed to surprised when he saw Nathaniel.

“Andrew, who’s this?” the guy asked. His voice was deep. Nathaniel didn’t like it.

Andrew had stood up, but his hand still grasped the blanket they’d been using. His hand was clenched into a fist. In the eight years they’d known each other, Nathaniel had never seen Andrew look like this. His body was rigid, his eyes horrified yet angry, his body extracting a lethal and defensive aura. Yet, Andrew’s voice was steady as he spoke.

“This is a friend of mine. We have class together.” A pause. “Why’re you here? I thought you were spending the night out.”

“I am,” said the person. He grinned and walked closer. Held out his hand for Nathaniel to shake. “I’m Drake. Andrew’s foster brother.”

Nathaniel regarded the stranger calmly. He gripped the other’s hand. It was rough and sticky. 

“I’m Nathaniel,” he said.

The handshake stopped. Drake looked around the house. “I only came back to grab the gaming console and some games. You don’t mind, do ya, Andrew?”

“No.”

“Good, good,” Drake said, and disappeared into his room. There was some rummaging.

Nathaniel looked at Andrew. Andrew wouldn’t look at him.

Nathaniel recognized Andrew’s body stance. His reaction. His expression.

It was pure fear.

And Nathaniel knew Andrew. He’d known him for so, so long. Probably longer than anyone else. And he knew Andrew was only scared of heights. Andrew had told him that with an honest voice. And there were no heights here. Only a creepy older kid with a suspicious, knowing grin.

Nathaniel felt deadly. His fingers itched, as if seeking a weapon. He took a step, carefully putting himself between Drake’s room and Andrew. Suddenly, he was a shield, a protector, a possible killer.

Whatever scared Andrew about Drake, Nathaniel knew it was bad. Because Andrew fought all the time. He’d had a black eye before. He’d broke a bone, once. And never did he showcase this much horror. Never did he look so helpless.

Nathaniel put it together like a four piece puzzle. Quick and easy, he connected the dots.

 _Oh_.

 _Oh_ , he thought. _I need to fix this_.

Drake came back out of his room with a bunch of junk in his hands. Nathaniel looked at him coolly. Andrew was looking at the wall.

“Well, see ya later little bro.” It almost sounded like a threat. He glanced at Nathaniel. “Nice meeting ya.”

“Likewise,” Nathaniel said, almost cheerily.

The front door closed and locked. Nathaniel looked at Andrew.

“I… I’m going to the restroom before the next movie,” Andrew said.

Nathaniel watched him leave the room. Heard the bathroom door slam. Waited one second, two, three… and then he was out the front door.

“Drake, wait up!” he called, catching the older boy as he got into a car. There were a few other guys in the vehicle. Probably the friends he was spending the night with. Drake paused outside the driver’s side and looked at the younger boy.

“Hey, Nathaniel. What’s up? I’m kinda in a rush.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Nathaniel gave him his most sincere smile. Wide and cute. Drake smiled back. “Um, sorry, I’ve never been this bold before so I’m a little nervous.” He twisted his fingers together, pretending to fidget.

Drake’s smile grew bigger. “It’s no problem.”

“So, uh, I was just wondering - you seem pretty cool, and I’ve never hung out with someone in an older grade before, so maybe we could hang out? Like, tomorrow or something?”

“Are you sure Andrew wants you hangin’ out with his older brother?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Oh, we’re just kinda acquaintances. We have a project together so I came over to work on it. Plus, he doesn’t have to know.” He made sure his smile was telling. As if they were in on some secret.

“Huh. You’re pretty cute, aren’t ya? How about the park, tomorrow around 9 pm?”

“Cool,” Nathaniel said. “And then maybe we can go back to my house? It’s really big. We even have a swimming pool.”

Drake grinned. “Awesome. See you tomorrow, Nathaniel.”

And that was it. He got in his car and drove around with his chattering friends while Nathaniel waved happily. When they were out of sight, he dropped his hand and went back inside.

He felt numb.

Yet, somehow, he felt good too.

It was almost another five whole minutes before Andrew came out of the bathroom. He looked completely fine.

“Have trouble in there?” Nathaniel joked.

“Oh, shut up,” Andrew replied.

They started the movie. Neither of them mentioned Drake.

 

A few hours later, after the two sang Lion King songs and watched mindless television out on the couch, they got ready for bed in Andrew’s room. Andrew’s bed was a twin size, and like before, he suggested they sleep on the floor anyway. Nathaniel didn’t say anything about it - he knew Andrew didn’t much like sleeping in beds. It didn’t make much sense before, but now it kind of did.

Rather than at Nathaniel’s house, where there was a bit of light even at night, Andrew’s room was encased in complete darkness. Their mindless conversation eventually drowned out.

Nathaniel asked, “Does anyone else know?”

Andrew said, very strictly, “I am not talking about this with you.”

They were both vague. And maybe Nathaniel had guessed wrong. Maybe what Drake was doing wasn’t as bad as he had assumed. But all the signs put together led to a very clear answer. 

“Okay,” Nathaniel said. And then, “I’m sorry.”

“For what.” Andrew’s tone wasn’t even questioning. It was flat. Annoyed, almost.

“That we can’t always be honest with each other, I guess. That keeping these secrets makes it harder to protect each other.”

It was silent for awhile. Nathaniel guessed that Andrew was thinking about that.

But what Andrew didn’t know was that now Nathaniel knew. And Nathaniel wouldn’t sit by while this was happening any longer. He would fix it on his own, no matter what.

“I’m going to sleep on the bed,” Andrew said. He got up with his blanket and Nathaniel heard the bed squeak with his presence. 

Nathaniel shoved his face into his pillow and cried. 

 

The next day, Nathaniel returned to his own house. 

The first thing he did was shower. Then he got in a pair of black jeans and a black shirt. He wore short, black combat boots. 

He saw his mother for lunch.

“You should really wear colors more often, Nathaniel.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied.

“Don’t sound so apathetic.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She sighed and drank from her wine glass.

“Is dad home?” he asked. He ate a bite from the sandwich on his plate. He had thought he wouldn’t have an appetite, but he felt fine. Almost excited.

“He’ll be home by midnight, so make sure you’re home by then.”

“Okay,” he said.

A few short hours later, Nathaniel was waiting at the park. His mind was clear. There was no fear, no anticipation, no hesitance. He was nothing but a boy with a plan - one that would save his best friend. Nathaniel knew there would be consequences. He also knew it was worth it.

Only several minutes after nine, Nathaniel watched as the same car from the night before pulled up. He walked up to the passenger side. It was unlocked, so he got in.

“Hey,” he greeted, trying his best to once again put on that facade. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

“Really?” Drake asked. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe I was too young for you.”

Drake grinned. “Nah. Plus, you’re too pretty to pass up. I’d be an idiot.”

Nathaniel grinned back. It was just the thing he’d wanted to hear.

They made small talk while Nathaniel gave him directions back to his house. He was thankful that Drake wasn’t trying to jump his bones in the car; he didn’t plan on letting Drake touch him, but it would be harder to distract him in such a small space.

Nathaniel let him park in the driveway, figuring he’d be able to move it by the time his father got home.

“Shit, man. This place is huge.” Drake was gaping as they made their way up the front steps. “Ever thought about having party’s here?”

No. “Well, I never really had a reason. But you and your friends can hang here whenever.”

Drake smiled at that. Nathaniel thought about how empty all his promises were.

On the way up the stairs, Drake grabbed onto Nathaniel’s hip. He tried not to feel it as it burned through him. _What a disgusting, foul palm_ , he thought.

“This way,” he said once they’d reached the top of the stairs. The hallways were long and the floors were wood, covered by rectangular rugs. The interior design was not modern, but it was easy to tell they had money.

Nathaniel brought them to a random door in the midst of the others. “This is my room.”

“Shit, it’s huge,” Drake said, admiring the room’s length. There was a queen sized bed in the far corner and plenty of space. Drake made his way to the bed without even asking. “Comfortable,” he commented, feeling the comforter with his hands. 

Nathaniel made a note to burn his sheets. 

“So why’d you take a sudden interest in me? I mean, I know what I look like, but you don’t seem like the rowdy type.” Drake’s voice was laced in confidence, an ego bigger than this house.

“Oh,” the boy replied, twirling his fingers in fake shyness. He was still standing, close enough to the wall beside his closet. “It’s kind of embarrassing… I told Andrew I liked boys. Older boys, specifically, and Andrew told me - well, nevermind, it’s stupid.”

Drake was grinning. “What did Andrew tell you about me?”

“He told me someone my age might be your type.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel said. “He told me he’d been with you a few times and that it was really good.”

Drake’s head whipped back and he let out a huge bark of laughter. It sounded malicious and vindictive, and continued for a few long seconds.

“That shithead! He’s always crying and hitting me and telling me to stop… he doesn’t have to act like he hates it so much if he’s going around telling people what a nice fuck I am.”

Right.

And that was that.

Nathaniel’s body was the calmness of the open sea. He felt empty. He felt ready.

He felt dangerous.

“Drake?” He no longer had it in him to make himself sound shy.

Drake stopped chuckling to look at the other. “Yeah?”

“This is my first time and I’m a bit nervous. Can you lie down while I get undressed?”

The more he felt the intent to destroy, the more he could no longer act. But Drake didn’t seem to notice the change of tone, the sudden tension.

“That’s real cute. You take your time.” And he laid down on the bed. Simple.

The closet door was already cracked open. Nathaniel reached inside. Felt the hardness of the bat in his grasp. Squeezed his hand tighter around it and pulled it out.

Brought it closer. Just out of Drake’s line of sight.

“Drake?”

“Mhm?”

“How do I look?”

Drake sat up. The swing of Nathaniel’s bat brought him right back down.

 

At midnight, Nathan Wesninski entered the Wesninski house and called his son to acquire about the unknown car in the driveway.

“You better not have company over, Nathaniel,” said the man as his son came to greet him at the bottom of the stairs.

A son with an empty stare, void of anything. He was expressionless, and his clothes were covered in blood.

“I killed a man,” said the boy. “In my bedroom.”

“Oh?” Nathan hung up his coat. “Why?”

“He’s a rapist.”

Nathan looked at his son. “Where did you do it?”

“On my bed.”

“You’re really a goddamn idiot, aren’t you? Might as well turn you in to save myself if you’re going to just make a mess in my house.”

Finally, a bit of life came back to the boy. “No one knows he’s here. He didn’t tell anyone.”

“So? Deal with it yourself.”

At this, the youngest Wesninski let out a sharp sob. It looked like the weight of what he had done was beginning to crush him 

“Father, I can’t -”

“You must. Actions of haste have consequences, Nathaniel.”

“I’ll do anything for your help. Please - I don’t know. It’s all over my room… his blood. And his body, I don’t know what to do with -”

“You’ll do anything?” asked the man.

“Yes. Please.”

“Tell me, son. Did you regret it?”

Nathaniel did not hesitate. “No.”

“Interesting.” Nathan clasped his hands together. “I can agree to clean up my son’s messes. Of course, I will have to take something for myself.”

“Yes, father. Anything.”

“We have a house in Baltimore. You will come there and be my apprentice.”

It took the boy a long time to answer.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now go clean up. Get under your nails, too. I will have my people come into the bathroom to check your body, then rid of these filthy clothes. Sleep in a guest room tonight and wear guest clothes. Depending on the mess you made, most things in your room will be burned.”

“Yes, Father.”

The boy did not say thank you. The man went to work.

 

Nathaniel laid in the guest room, staring at the ceiling.

Apprentice. As in murder. Mafia. Baltimore

 _Andrew_.

But he had to do it. There was no other way. Being a murderer in Baltimore versus going to jail for life. 

Nathaniel thought about the splatter of blood against his sheets.

He thought about the bits of brains he had seen as he crushed Drake’s skull in.

He thought about how he kept hitting him until Drake no longer looked human.

He also thought about Andrew, who would likely hate him for doing this. Not for killing Drake, but for putting himself in this situation.

But it was worth it.

 

Nathaniel had less than 24 hours in town. He and his father would leave after sunset on a weeknight following that weekend. There was no news about Drake. His mother probably assumed he’d run away or gone off on some drinking bender. It didn’t matter. No evidence would be left by the time Drake’s mother noticed he was actually missing.

There had been no contact with Andrew. Nathaniel preferred it this way. He couldn’t look at his best friend if he wanted to leave. He would have to be a coward, just this once, and disappear without a word.

His single suitcase of clothes was packed and settled beside him on his bed. He stared at the wall, lifeless. Nathan Wesninski was scheduled to be back late afternoon, and Nathaniel decided he didn’t want to think about anything until he and his father left town.

His mindless fixation on the white paint was broken when a rapid thumping came from his window. Nathaniel startled and looked over.

Andrew was banging his fist on the window, not a hair out of place.

Nathaniel gaped at him. This was the second floor. He scrambled off the bed and unlocked the frame, sliding it up. Andrew was perched on the window frame like a bird.

“Andrew-?”

Andrew came into the room and stood still. He stared at Nathaniel like he could see through him, like he knew everything about him. It made him shiver, made him want to break apart until he was not someone who was about to leave.

“I heard someone in the front office today. One of the men who sometimes picks you up from school. He was taking care of your transfer.”

Nathaniel looked down at the floor. He didn’t have much to say.

“Tell me, Nathaniel-”

“I can’t-”

“And if you don’t, I will follow you. Wherever you’re going, whatever’s happening, I’ll follow you until I get a truthful answer from you. You do not get to leave without an explanation.”

Nathaniel sighed. Took a short breath. Whispered, small as he could.

“I killed Drake.”

The pause was like heavy oil filling their throats and their lungs and -

“You what?”

“I killed Drake. I killed him, and I am now under my father’s obligation. I’m going to work for him and help him do his dirty work. And you know what?” Now, Nathaniel was smiling, his lips twisted into a terrible grin. “I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it all. When he stopped breathing, I was so happy -”

Andrew shoved Nathaniel. Hard. “You idiot!” he snarled, angry, angrier than he’d ever been.

“I’d do it again! He hurt you! He hurt you, so he can burn in hell for all I care.”

“You fucking,” Andrew shoved him again, “idiot! How dare you, Nathaniel? I didn’t ask you for your goddamn help!”

“So, what? I was supposed to sit around knowing what he did to you? What he makes you do to your arms?”

“Shut up!” Andrew shoved him once more, until there was no more space between the wall and Nathaniel.

Nathaniel lowered his voice. “You are the only thing in this entire world that I give a shit about, and I’ll die before you have to suffer like that.”

“I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“Good. Hate me. It’ll be easier to leave, then.”

Andrew’s hands were clenched around Nathaniel’s collar. They stared at each other, angry and desperate and uncontrolled.

It was unclear who leaned in first, but it didn’t really matter. Completely opposite from their fiery argument, their lips met, tentative and questioning and soft. It was adultolescence and pain and joy and heartbreak.

For Nathaniel, it was a goodbye. For Andrew, it was a declaration.

Andrew moved back and looked Nathaniel in the eye. “If you go, I will not be able to forgive you, Abram.”

It was silent for a few seconds. 

“I’m sorry, Andrew.”

Andrew let his hands fall to his sides. He walked out the door without looking back.

Nathaniel sat motionless on his bed. After sunset, his father came home and the two Wesninski’s left for good.


	2. PART 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after being apart, Andrew and Nathaniel reconcile.

On his eighteenth birthday, Andrew Minyard received a package.

Which was, to say the least, incredibly strange. 

It was November. The leaves were red and orange and mostly dead. It was a somber end to fall and a bitter entrance into winter. That’s how Andrew always felt about his birthday. The month was rotten, and the actual day had always been useless. At least now he could buy his own cigarettes, though his fake I.D. worked just fine.

This particular package was strange for a variety of reasons.

One: Andrew Minyard was currently in a juvenile detention center for beating the shit out of a homophobe. Packages were rarely delivered, especially to Andrew.

Two: Nicky had already visited him today to wish him a happy birthday. Aaron didn’t like to visit and would never give the boy who killed their mother a present.

Three: Andrew had no other family or friends.

Four: The package had no return address. This was possibly the strangest of all, since all packages from jail were checked thoroughly and precisely. Anyone could be sent a knife or a gun or a pack of cigarettes, but they wouldn’t get it. The security here was just dandy.

Andrew looked at the package for a long time. A cut above his eyebrow throbbed. It was small but fresh. Another teen had assumed Andrew’s small stature meant he was weak. By the end of the fight, the other teen had been unconscious. Andrew, of course, was blamed.

And yet here was a package, waiting for him despite his “bad behavior.”

An hour passed until he felt like moving enough to open it. The tape was strong but Andrew tore it from the cardboard. He rummaged inside, suddenly annoyed, though he wasn’t sure why. 

The cardboard box was full of candy. Mostly chocolate. Chocolate bars and treats he had been secretly craving beyond these white, blank walls. 

Andrew frowned and pushed aside the candy. There was a wrapped present. The hidden object was large and rectangular and hard. He ripped open the paper.

It was a book. Extremely large in size, the cover was a beautiful mix of red, white and black. The cover said, in big block letters, “[Michael Crichton: Jurassic Park - The Lost World](https://prodimage.images-bn.com/pimages/9780307291844_p1_v1_s550x406.jpg).”

His thumb ran along the lines of the cover. There was a large, ugly pit in the center of his chest. He opened up the book. Inside, on the red lining of the book, was black ink.

“ _Andrew — I never knew it was a book first. I hope it keeps you company. Happy birthday. N._ ”

Andrew put the book back in the box and set the box in the corner of the room. He did not touch it for a week and three days until, eventually, the promise of chocolate and entertainment was too much for him. 

He ate the candy and he read.

 

 

Nathaniel Wesninski eyed the journals in the bookstore.

He was trailing someone and had been following them all day. The man, a man who had betrayed his father, was with his daughter. The two were looking at books, and he was buying his daughter anything she asked for. This part of the job used to make Nathaniel vomit, but now he knew how to completely shut off his emotions. It was a job. That was all.

As he trailed the man, he looked at each plain journal, contemplating how mad his father would be if he bought one. He’d always wanted to write, maybe reflect and doodle. However, his father wouldn’t approve of any Wesninski documentation. Even if Nathaniel just wrote nonsense, a physical copy of any thought could always be evidence.

So he didn’t buy the journal. Nor the felt pens or paint brushes. Instead, the young man followed the two strangers, swallowing his guilt and welcoming ignorance.

An hour later, he was outside the man’s house. The man parked his car in his driveway and told his daughter to go inside. The girl took her bags and went.

The man walked up to the side of the house where Nathaniel was watching. The two looked at each other.

“What is it this time?” the man asked.

“Let’s take a walk.”

 

 

A few hours later, when Nathaniel was washing his hands, he could not forget the image of the dead man and Nathan Wesninski’s approving smile.

He did not sleep.

 

 

A few months after his eighteenth birthday, Andrew was released from jail. He found this to be unfortunate. It had been almost two years since he had killed Tilda Minyard. It had been even less time than that since he had gotten himself in juvie. He had not seen Aaron Minyard in a very long time. 

Now, he would live with him, along with his cousin.

Jail was easy to handle, but this new living arrangement seemed too exhausting. He figured, at the very least, that now he could keep an eye on his twin, who was apparently too stupid to protect himself.

The two picked him up on the outside of that gate, on the other side of freedom, but Andrew felt nothing. He glanced at them, uninterested, and let Nicky speak for them all. They drove back to Columbia with the radio up high and the windows down.

Andrew decided the breeze, at least, was nice.

 

 

Nathaniel was going to die. He was truly going to die.

It had been weeks since he’d gotten his last mission from his father: get rid of Andrea Milton, the daughter of the man Nathaniel had killed months before. Apparently, Mr. Milton had told his daughter a little too much about the Wesninski family and their business. Her life was a clear threat to the family. Not only was Nathan demanding her death, but it went all the way up to the Moriyamas, who had suggested her death to Nathaniel’s father.

She was also only 11 years old.

Two days ago, Nathan had noticed the lack of her death and had beaten Nathaniel senseless. He sported a bruised face and a deep laceration on his collarbone. His father had given him 72 hours and he had about 20 hours left.

But Nathaniel knew he wasn’t going to go through with it. He had killed six men in the past four years. Six men that he remembered. Six men who had ties to the mafia, who were just as bad as his father, who were greedy bastards with nasty habits. Six men Nathaniel dreamt about, despite his attempts to forget them. But Nathaniel would not, could not kill an innocent child.

Ten hours ago, Nathaniel had sent an anonymous note to the Milton house, suggesting the girl and her mother leave. Before his own father noticed what was happening, Nathaniel would have to leave, too. He had a small duffle bag packed and ready to go. Sneakers, pants, shirts, jackets, and thousands of the Wesninski money.

So, yes, he was going to die. But he’d attempt a good fight first and see where it landed him.

 

 

Andrew’s alarm clock rang at 6 am. Class at Palmetto was something Andrew never thought he’d be attending, yet here he was in his freshman year, getting up at ungodly hours for some stupid pre-requisite class about classic American literature.

Once he was out of the shower, he could smell the coffee that Aaron or Nicky must have made. Nicky had jumped in the shower after him and Aaron was already out of the dorm room, heading to class. Andrew took his coffee full of sugar and creamer and sat on the couch. The news was on and Andrew watched it absentmindedly, focusing more on the feeling of warmth as it coated his mouth.

Andrew paid a bit more attention when the weather segment began. It was early spring yet the days still remained frosty. He pondered whether today was cold enough for a jacket when the news promptly told him it was around 40 degrees. Certainly jackey worthy but not freezing.

He was done with his coffee and ready to get up when another news story began, this one exhibiting somber tones. If he had been done with his coffee five seconds earlier, he perhaps would have missed the terrible jumble of words that followed.

The anchorman spoke clear and loud: “Our next story involves the death of an infamous businessman’s son. Most Maryland business owners know the multimillionaire Nathan Wesninski, but few know of his homelife. A father and a husband, the family-man withheld most details about his life. However, yesterday around 5 P.M. eastern time, the Wesninski son, eighteen, was found dead in Boston, Massachusetts.”

Andrew stared at the television. He could feel the skin beneath his armbands itching.

“The only son of the entrepreneur was Nathaniel Wesninski.” Andrew’s index finger twitched. “A successor to the business and Nathan’s pride, Nathaniel was apparently a devoted son with much to look forward to. Sadly, police found the body in a Boston motel. Suspected cause of death was an overdose.”

He couldn’t hear anymore. Things were tipping slowly, the world at an angle, an array of blurred colors Andrew could not focus on. He stood there, his body a stifled grave, completely unmoving and unthinking as his muscles understood the news before his brain could even fully grasp it.

His arm snapped like a whip and the mug he held smashed into the wall, shattering across the room. 

It was impossible to understand, to comprehend. He could not breathe, could not stop the sudden spew of blood curdling rage and bone deep despair that ate away at him sloppily and fast until he was a heaping mess of flesh upon the world, his rawness out for anyone to see.

Nicky came out to see what had caused the noise and saw the broken glass around them. “Andrew, what happened?” he asked. 

And Andrew remembered, again, the words on the screen, the meaning behind them. A world without Nathaniel Wesninski. A world where Nathaniel Wesninski would never again smile, where he wouldn’t live on and break free from the terrible life he’d had. 

Andrew kicked the light coffee table with all his strength. It tumbled a few feet away before smashing into the wall. A table leg had broken off mid-toss. 

Things were almost moving too fast for him, but when Nicky said his name again, trying to get through to him, Andrew felt the rest of his anger snap like a bubble. His fist rammed into the wall and the concrete shifted behind the paint. There was a resonating crack and when his arm fell back to his side, it was very clear that something had broken. Still, Andrew could barely acknowledge the pain among the part of him that was shaking.

Nicky looked at his hand and began fretting as he did, panicking and ushering Andrew out of the dorm to go to the hospital. He let himself be dragged along, as the punch had been the last of that soul-sucking distress, and all that was left was something lifeless and unresponsive.

 

 

His body jolted at the gunshot, the bullet lodging itself into his shoulder. Nathaniel stifled the cry and ignored the pain in favor of the man who came toward him. He lifted his leg rather than his now-useless arm to kick the gun from the man’s hand, sending it spiraling.

The man grunted and reached for the younger Wesninski. Nathaniel didn’t know who the man was, but it was clear who he worked for. This was the third person in two months who had found him, no matter how hard he tried to hide.

The two threw hits, though only a few landed. The man kept aiming for the bullet hole in Nathaniel’s arm, but he was agile enough to avoid the hit each time. 

In the end, Nathaniel didn’t even need the gun. He smacked the man hard enough to still his movements, and in that moment he hit him again, knocking the man unconscious. 

Nathaniel limped over to the gun, picked it up and shot the man. He dropped the gun, knowing his father would somehow clean up the man and the weapon before anyone else could find him.

Despite the pain, he couldn’t stay there for any longer. Nathaniel continued on as fast as he could. He used his large jacket to hide the blood, made it to a bus station, paid for a ticket and went into the bus station’s restroom while he waited for departure.

The alcohol in his duffle bag was rarely used, but Nathaniel chugged a large amount of it. Although he had never had to do this to himself before, his father had taught him something as easy as taking out a bullet and cleaning a wound. Those were the basics as his apprentice.

He poured alcohol over the stitched up hole as he bit into his shirt to keep from screaming. He tossed the bullet into the trash can and make sure it went to the very bottom, beneath all the paper towels. When he was done, he made sure to clean all the drops of blood that had been unavoidable.

The bus came late into the night, and Nathaniel got on it, tired yet restless.

The idea came to him when he was half-asleep on the bus, the dark night lurking outside large windows. The bus driver announced their proximity to Boston and Nathaniel wrestled in his duffle bag for a piece of paper with a name and a number.

People poured off the bus when they finally arrived at their destination. Despite the early morning hour, Nathaniel went straight to a pay phone and dialed the number from his bag.

The line clicked when someone answered. “This is Stuart.”

“It’s Nathaniel.”

His uncle sighed. “Not even a greeting?”

There was a pause. “Hi, Uncle Stuart.”

“Hello, Nathaniel. I didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon. Your mother told me she gave you my number and that you’ve run away.”

“Yes. I have an idea, but I can’t execute it myself.”

“Go ahead,” Stuart said.

A few hours later, a woman met Nathaniel at his crappy, cash-only hotel in Boston. 

She was short and old, with the scratchy voice of a smoker. Nathaniel momentarily wondered why Stuart would send an elderly woman, but her bluntness and knowledge of medicine made it clear.

She sat Nathaniel down on the bed and said, “Something kin to Tetrodotoxin. Slows your heart to one beat per second. Too much and it’ll kill you. A certain amount will put you in a coma for 2 days, a bit more will have you knocked out for two weeks tops. It’s practically poison, though, so there’s always a chance you can die, even with the right amount.”

It was good he was sitting down. Nathaniel felt slightly dizzy. But it seemed faking his own death was the only possible option. He didn’t have anyone else with him, and his father was a hound. He loved the hunt, and he found Nathaniel easily. This chase would last a lifetime if there wasn’t a stop to it.

“After I take it, what will happen?”

“We’ll get someone to leave an anonymous tip about a dead boy in this motel. They’ll find you, put you in the morgue. Someone will have to identify you - you don’t have an I.D. I assume?” Nathaniel shook his head. “Right. So I’m positive they’ll call your parents, and I’m positive Nathan will want to see you himself.”

Nathaniel shuddered. The idea of leaving his unconscious body with his angry, revenge-seeking father seemed terrible.

She went on. “The funeral will likely be scheduled as soon as possible. Wesninski will want to put this to rest. You’ll be buried.” Nathaniel stared at her in shock but she ignored him. “We’ll get you the night of your funeral. You have nothing to worry about. Coffins are actually pretty comfortable.”

“And you would know?”

The woman stared him down. “The older you get, the more curious you are about how you’ll be spending the rest of eternity.”

It was quiet for awhile as Nathaniel attempted to fully understand what he was getting himself into. There was a chance of dying, but there was also a chance he’d be free from his father. The more he thought about it, the easier the answer was.

“Okay,” Nathaniel said. “Let’s do it.

They didn’t waste any time. Nathaniel changed into his most comfortable clothes and made sure Eliza (the old woman) kept his duffle bag safe. He had a meal, took care of personal business, brushed his teeth and, finally, took the medication.

As he attempted to position himself, he asked. “Wait. What will be my declared cause of death?”

“My stuff vaguely reads like an opiate. They’ll likely declare it an overdose. I’m not sure which drug they’ll learn toward.”

Nathaniel nodded and settled facedown on the bed. He could hear the air conditioner kick on.

His heart slowed and slowed and slowed, until all was quiet.

 

 

The days became weeks and the weeks became months.

There was little Andrew had been doing. Each day was the same exact routine. Classes, gym, work. Class was for peace and quiet, the gym was to work out energy, and work was… well, more peace and quiet.

After breaking his hand, Nicky had not shut up for weeks. He’d pestered Andrew everyday, attempting to smother him with care. All Andrew could do was spend his time out of the dorm, spending all his time away from his brother and cousin.

His busy schedule proved to be useful for others things, too. It left him very little time to think. He got home from work and went right to sleep, ready to start classes early the next day.

And when Nicky did catch him somehow, Andrew never said a word. He’d gotten a job as a busboy at a local restaurant months ago, but since then he hadn’t spoken a word - not even to his boss, who found it incredibly frustrating but refused to fire him. The restaurant was loved by locals, but it wasn’t exactly extravagant. Not many people were begging to work there, so Andrew’s job was secure.

Aaron didn’t bother trying to communicate, but Nicky was another issue. 

At some point in time, on a day in a month Andrew could not place, Nicky would not leave him alone. Aaron and Nicky sat on the couch while Andrew lazed on a beanbag chair.

“Maybe you can join a club?” Nicky suggested. Some movie they’d watched before was playing in the background. “Like… photography or golf. Something where you don’t need to speak a lot. Or a sports team? You’re jacked, you wouldn’t have trouble getting on a team.”

Andrew didn’t answer.

“Or get yourself a girlfriend, at least. Aaron did and he’s much less annoying now.” Aaron shot Nicky a look and Nicky shrugged, waving him off. “I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s scientifically proven that kissing reduces stress. Or go the extra mile and find a fuck buddy. Sex equals endorphins.”

A lot of things happened at once. As Nicky spoke, Andrew could only think of the last person he’d kissed, their body dead in some grave, encased by dirt. He’d died alone, without anyone, overdosed in some motel. It was like a knife was cutting open his chest and he was shoving his guts back inside him, unwilling to let anything fall out. 

But the image of Nathaniel’s face was too strong. The last time they’d seen each other, the angry press of lips, the desperation of youth, the inability to save him.

Andrew should have killed Nathan Wesninski. He’d wanted to. He’d thought about it more than once when they were younger. Yet, Nathaniel had beat him to it. Nathaniel, that idiot, had killed Drake in cold blood, and Nathaniel had paid the consequences up until his death.

Nathaniel, the only person he’d ever fully trusted. The boy who’d brought him candy, who hadn’t judged, who’d cared enough about Andrew to kill a man. Nathaniel, who’d sent him that stupid book while he was in jail, a book that Andrew still kept and could not get rid of. The boy who’d cried when he’d seen Andrew’s arms.

Abram.

Andrew was quick as he turned on Nicky, a knife out in seconds. It sliced Nicky’s cheek but Andrew didn’t stop. He pressed the tip beneath Nicky’s jaw.

The threats were a usual occurrence, but never before had Andrew made Nicky bleed. 

“Fu-” Nicky grumbled, but he shut his mouth and held absolutely still. Even Aaron, who was usually empathetic, was still on the couch, not a single word falling from his mouth.

It was quiet. Andrew was physically restraining his anger. He wanted to stick his knife in something, someone, but he knew that person wasn’t Nicky. Still, he had to learn to keep his mouth shut.

After a few tense moments, Andrew leaned back and slid the knife back into his armbands. He grabbed his cigarettes and his lighter and left the room.

He thought it was perhaps time to plan a visit to Baltimore.

 

 

The plan was not much of a plan: go to Baltimore, find Nathan Wesninski, cut his throat. Then, either die or go to jail. Andrew packed a single backpack, bought a bus ticket, and waited for his departure. He felt calm. This had certainly been a long time coming.

It was less than an hour before the bus left when Nicky called him. Andrew didn’t answer, but he called again.

Andrew picked up on the sixth ring.

“Andrew! Where are you?” There was a stretch of silence. “Well, nevermind that. There’s someone here to see you. A very cute someone!”

Andrew hung up. When Nicky called again, he picked up on the first ring and listened.

Nicky sounded breathless. “Don’t hang up! Jeez. Anyway, there’s someone at the dorm for you. His name’s -” Andrew could hear Nicky lean away from the phone to ask something before talking back into the receiver. “His name’s Abram. Says it’s important.”

Andrew had walked to the bus station, so there was no car he could use to drive back. He stood up, his hands shaking as he held the phone so tightly it could crack.

“Andrew, are you -”

“Nicky. Shut up.” His voice was choked, unused and scratchy. “Put him on the phone.”

There was a shuffling as if Nicky was handing him the phone, then Andrew heard: “I’d rather let him be mad at me in person.”

The voice was undeniable. Andrew looked out at the buses lined up. It was really impeccable timing, considering the circumstances.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Do not let him leave.”

 

 

“Wow,” Nicky said. He was quite a loud man, outgoing and friendly. Nathaniel wasn’t used to it. “I haven’t heard Andrew speak in months.” He looked Nathaniel up and down, accessing him once more. “So… how do you know Andrew?”

Nathaniel almost didn’t reply, to accustomed to ignoring nosy questions. But he remembered where he was and gave a short shrug. “We’re childhood friends.”

And how weird it was now, to be so close to once again meeting the boy from his childhood. The only person Nathaniel had ever truly considered a part of his life.

After faking his death, Nathaniel had been on a mission to find Andrew. After Drake died, it got a little murky. Yet Nathaniel had always had Wesninski connections. It had been easy to find Andrew in jail in another state, and just as easy to sneak him a birthday gift. He’d tried to keep tabs every few months without his father realizing it. It was a little more than a year after that, and finding Andrew without the Wesninski name was nearly impossible. 

Thankfully, Nathaniel had found a library in some random state on the east coast, where he’d typed in “Andrew Doe” before realizing it was now “Andrew Minyard.” He hadn’t found much, especially because his own computer savviness was non-existent, but Nathaniel remembered the discovery of Andrew’s cousin, Nicky Hemmick.

Nicky was certainly on the grid, with multiple platforms for social media. He discovered Palmetto State University and then he’d asked around for Hemmick, claiming he was the man’s boyfriend (which, thanks to Nicky’s online photos, proved to be a believable excuse). It was a large college and few people knew who he was talking about, but he’d found one person who pointed him in the right direction and, specifically, the right dorm hallway.

Then it was a simple matter of knocking, and Nicky’s room was the fourth one down. 

He’d been understandably shocked to find a blond haired man answer the door instead.

“A-Andrew,” he’d coughed out, shocked and practically choking on his surprise.

“No. I’m Aaron.”

And that’s where they were now, waiting patiently on the couch for Andrew Minyard, the boy that would certainly kick the shit out of Nathaniel once he saw him. Or stab him. Whichever reflex came first.

“Why do you think my brother will be mad at you?” Aaron asked.

Nathaniel regarded him cooly. “We seperated on bad terms.”

Nicky laughed. “You make it sound like a break-up.”

Nathaniel ignored the comment.

“Is it okay if I wait here, then?”

“You don’t want to run away? You’re not scared of Andrew?” Nicky asked.

Nathaniel looked at him. “Why would I be scared of him?”

“It seems like he’s angry with you. And angry Andrew is, well…” Nicky touched his throat as if remembering something. “He’s my cousin, and I love him, but even I get scared of him.”

Nathaniel thought about how scared Andrew had been of Drake. He thought about Drake’s blood splattering his bedroom walls and how it’d tasted in his mouth. He remembered that Andrew loves sweets and Jurassic Park, and that he had grown up a quiet boy. 

“I think Andrew could kill me and I still wouldn’t be scared of him.”

Nicky laughed at that. “I guess we’ll see.”

The remaining time last with Nicky talking about random things, Aaron staring at Nathaniel, and Nathaniel fiddling with his thumbs in anticipation. He absently wondered if Andrew had heard the news about his ‘death’. It was better if he hadn’t heard anything about it.

The door knob to the room jiggled and Nathaniel stood up, the nerves in his stomach swimming around.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to lock the door,” Nicky mumbled. He got up to go unlock it. “Hold on!” he called, but the lock on the outside clicked and the door slammed open.

Andrew Minyard looked just as he had when he was young, just taller and wider and much more muscular. But Nathaniel could still see that blond hair and the hazel eyes. The tell of emotions that was hardly noticeable, but Nathaniel could still see it. 

He’d known Andrew his whole life - he knew that when Andrew smiled, rare as it was, it was better than anything else Nathaniel had ever experienced. He knew that his jaw clenched when he was trying to hold back his anger, and his eyes stared off at a wall when he was trying to ignore something.

Right now, it was very clear that there was more than one reaction bursting through Andrew. He paused in the doorway - not for long, barely even a second of hesitation. There was pure recognition in his eyes followed by a fast assessment of Nathaniel’s whole frame. 

And then he walked straight toward Nathaniel, and Nathaniel did not fight back when Andrew grabbed his collar and shoved him back a few feet until his back smacked the thin wall. Nathaniel grunted but otherwise didn’t say anything.

“Andrew, maybe you should -” Nicky said.

“Shut up,” Andrew spit out. 

The grip on Nathaniel’s collar tightened enough to choke him, but he didn’t complain or break free. He felt the pressure, almost deep enough to cut off his breathing. 

Andrew pulled on the collar, bringing Nathaniel forward, and then slammed him back into the wall. 

“They said you overdosed,” he said. “Dead at eighteen. A real fucking tragedy, they called it.” He pushed Nathaniel against the wall again. “I bet I looked really pathetic, huh? Was it fun? Playing some stupid fucking game by yourself?” He pushed again. “I thought maybe your father had ordered the hit. Or, maybe, you really hated your life enough to kill yourself.” He pushed again, still hard enough to bruise. “And then you show your face back in front of me again. After I deliberately told you I’d never forgive you. After I told you I fucking hated you.”

Nathaniel reached up to Andrew’s sweater and tightly gripped the fabric on his chest. He grinned, the tense situation an afterthought, the familiarity and proximity making him feel relief he did not know he could.

Just low enough for Andrew to hear him, the giddy grin still on his face, he whispered, “I missed you so much, Andrew.”

Andrew stared into his eyes for a few endless moments before turning around. The hands at his sides turned to fists. He looked at his cousin and brother, voice hard enough to break steel. “Go. I don’t care where, go.”

Their audience left, and it was just the two of them. 

Hands shaking, Andrew reached into his pocket to grab a cigarette and messily light it. Nathaniel looked up at the smoke alarm but he didn’t comment. Chances were Andrew had dismantled it a long time ago.

They were quiet for awhile and Andrew wouldn’t look at him. Nathaniel knew better than to push him, but he was getting anxious. He’d felt Andrew against him, that tough stability, and now he wanted it back.

“Hey,” Nathaniel said. Andrew either pretended he didn’t hear or was completely tuning Nathaniel out. Nathaniel took a step closer. “Hey. Look at me.”

Andrew didn’t even move. The cigarette smoke lifted as Andrew exhaled. 

“I ran away from my father. I was a coward, and I used a cowardly method to get him off my tail. I was… I guess I was just sick of it. Running. Getting shot at for miles, constantly being scared, and - I wanted to see you, too. But I couldn’t ever look for you if he had people following me. I didn’t want him to somehow find you. So I faked my own death and, yes, I should have called you, but I’d thought… that you wouldn’t care either way. I don’t know. I still don’t know if you’ve ever forgiven me and,” Nathaniel scratched his cheek. “I didn’t want to be rejected.”

Andrew spun around. “Then why come back?”

“I’m being selfish.”

“And? What if I still hate you? What are you going to do then?”

Nathaniel had already thought about it. “I’d go somewhere in the east. Sweden, maybe Russia.”

Suddenly, he felt like a fifteen year old boy again. Helpless, being pulled from a place he didn’t want to leave. 

Andrew scoffed. “You were right about being a coward.”

Nathaniel looked at the floor, ashamed as if he were being scolded. His chest felt a little heavy, but he’d expected this. He’d prepared for it. He willed the heat in his cheeks to cool down.

“I have a motel near here.” A lie. “I’m going to stay tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow. Just…” Nathaniel didn’t know what he should say. He didn’t think an apology would suffice. 

“Don’t come back tomorrow,” Andrew said.

Nathaniel looked at him for a little bit longer, took in his fill, and left.

 

 

Andrew left the dorm room only five minutes after Nathaniel left, but he couldn’t find him. There was absolutely no trace of him, nothing to prove that it hadn’t been some ugly nightmare. Andrew figured it was the skill of a trained runaway.

He went to the closest motel, only a mile away from the university. For a few minutes he waited in his car to see if anyone would show up. When he got too impatient in the confines of his car, he went up to each and every door down the lot and knocked. Every door opened (it was a ‘No Vacancy’ night), but not a single room had who he was looking for.

There were only two more motels in the area. Andrew went to both and repeated the process. Both times, he came up short.

Something inside him was beginning to rupture. He made it back to the dorm, broke the door on the way in, and felt the energy spilling from his fingertips.

Tough fingers found his own blond hair and he yanked hard, trying to center himself. The scars on his arms itched.

Like always, like the closing of a door, Andrew shut off the anger. It slid right through him, and he managed to let go of his locks. He let himself become numb, and he did not think about it once more the whole night.

Nicky woke him when he got home, urging Andrew to go to the bedroom, but Andrew waved him off and stayed on the couch. It wasn’t that he was hoping for anything - it was just the small perimeter of the bedroom that was bound to set him off.

The next day was a weekday, but Andrew skipped in favor of lounging on the couch. He smoked, drank coffee, smoked, did homework, and repeated the process. Eventually, he settled into the couch and did not move. 

It was only two in the afternoon when someone knocked at the door. Andrew slowly sat up. It had only been two knocks, and the person did not knock again. Andrew got up to answer it.

He found Nathaniel Wesninski standing there, blinking franatically. When he made eye contact with Andrew, something flashed by his eyes. Nathaniel looked down at the floor, then looked back up and then back down.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home - I was going to try once now and then again later.” Nathaniel looked back up. “I know you said not to come back, but -”

Nathaniel’s words were cut off as Andrew gripped him by the shirt and dragged him inside. He closed the door behind them, the half-broken lock squeaking as it closed.

“You said you were staying at a motel. You lied.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “I wasn’t about to tell you I had nowhere to stay when you were already mad.”

“Then where did you sleep?”

“Bus stop.” Nathaniel looked at Andrew and seemed less nervous as they stared each other down. “Look, I -”

“Sh,” Andrew said. He grabbed Nathaniel’s chin and moved his face from side to side. There was nothing on his face that suggested a struggle or recent fight. “Shirt off.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Later.”

Andrew glared at him. “Who says there will be a later?”

Both boys refused to back down. 

Andrew said, “Fine, then. Sit down and tell me everything, from start to finish.”

So he did. Starting back from where they’d left off, the Wesninski’s moved to Baltimore and Nathaniel started the apprenticeship. Nathan beat his son for every mistake, so Nathaniel forced himself to learn fast. He didn’t take on the torture training as much as he simply learned how to kill a man. He’d been an assassin for the Wesninskis while Nathan remained the cold-blooded murderer. Sure, the dead men were terrible, but Nathaniel claimed it didn’t stop him from being hesitant.

There was a child meant to be killed so Nathaniel ran. He was beaten down, stabbed, shot and more until it became too much. He’d used his uncle, another man of the mafia, to stage his death.

“Tetrodotoxin,” Nathaniel said. “Funny thing is, my dad came to the morgue to see me and decided I couldn’t be buried without his full initials carved into my skin. I’m just glad he didn’t decide to stab my face or something - don’t look at me like that. Anyway, Uncle Stuart got me the night after I was buried but it didn’t matter. I was still unconscious. I was knocked out for a total of eighteen days. They had to tube-feed me at a private clinic. They actually thought I’d rejected the poison and died.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “And then I woke up and left right away. I tried finding you, and when I finally did track you down, I went straight here.”

Andrew got out a cigarette and lit it. The room was cold.

“How long until you leave again?”

Nathaniel didn’t say anything.

“Really,” Andrew continued. He tried not to sound agitated. “It’s a miracle you’re not dead yet. One dumbass decision after another usually puts people in their graves.” He paused. “Well, nevermind - you somehow still found your way six feet under.”

“Funny.”

Andrew stubbed his cigarette out in his small ashtray. “Tell me, Nathaniel. Why are you back? Truly. No lies, no evasions.”

“Look at me,” Nathaniel said.

Andrew turned to him, unimpressed. Nathaniel lifted his hand and used the tips of his fingers to move Andrew’s hair from his face. He was careful not to touch Andrew, and Andrew hated that selfless part of him.

“I missed you. That’s it. There’s no big secret, no lies. I just wanted to see you.”

Andrew put his hand in Nathaniel’s dark auburn strands and yanked a little. “You had me believe you were dead.”

“I know,” Nathaniel whispered. Andrew tried to hold onto his numbness but it was slipping through. “And I’m sorry.”

Andrew’s other hand lifted and both of his palms found the sides of Nathaniel’s head. He centered him, forcing them to look directly at each other.

“You’ll stay,” Andrew said.

Nathaniel said, “Okay.”

 

 

Nathaniel found himself living with three people after living by himself for two years.

It was a strange feat, too, considering Nathaniel didn’t even go to the school. Still, Andrew forced him to stay and so he took the couch, which was still more comfortable than a bus stop bench or some motel mattress.

Aaron was unamused yet unresponsive to the situation. Nicky, however, cooked breakfast every morning. He was giddy that they had company and even happier that Andrew was talking.

Andrew and Nathaniel had an understanding, and while Nathaniel didn’t know how long it would last, he tried to live the days appreciating the time he had here.

They didn’t talk much. Perhaps Andrew was still adjusting. Though anyone else could easily notice how they didn’t leave each others side, constantly standing or sitting a bit too close. 

The third day he was there, Nathaniel went up to Andrew in the bedroom. “I know you’re not going to ask me again, so I’ll offer. Can I take off my shirt?”

Andrew gave him a blank look but flicked his fingers in permission.

Nathaniel pulled his shirt over his head. Andrew had already seen him at his most vulnerable, so this felt insignificant.

Andrew’s eyes roamed from his collarbones to his shoulders to his chest and waist. He got up to get a closer look. His fingers hovered over the abundance of scars but they didn’t touch the skin. He paused near the iron burn but moved on to follow the lines of knives, the matches of scarred tissue, the memory of hurt. He found the bullet hole and poked at it.

“That one took long to heal,” Nathaniel said. “I’m shit at stitching.”

“I bet.”

Andrew glanced again over the other’s chest and back. “Where are the initials?”

“It’s on my thigh. Do you want me to show you?”

Andrew nodded, so Nathaniel hiked down one side of sweatpants down to his lower thigh, right above the knee. Thankfully, he was wearing baggy enough boxers.

The carving was not sloppy at all. In fact, it somehow resembled a tattoo. It had scarred now, but the lining was still readable and present. It had clearly been deep. Nathan Wesninski was a man who truly knew how to use a knife.

Andrew grabbed his knee so he could inspect it better. His thumb dug into the skin there and then let go.

Nathaniel chose this moment to say something he’d been thinking for months. “Did you know I hate the name Nathaniel?”

Andrew stood up straight and said, "I remember."

Nathaniel pulled up his pants. “I want to go by something else, but I don’t know what.”

“What about Abram?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No. That name’s only for you. It’s private.”

Something dark flashed through Andrew’s eyes but it quickly passed. When he didn’t say anything, Nathaniel shrugged.

“Well, we’ll come up with something.”

 

 

The air was cold on his neck. Dirt was pushing its way into his fingernails as he crawled on the floor, trying to escape. He couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t feel his legs. It was pitch black, yet the sound of footsteps behind him was undeniable.

“My son,” the man said. He grabbed Nathaniel by the hair and pulled him up.

The boy woke up on the couch. He blinked in the dimness. The oven timer projected a small light over the suite, and it comforted him on nights like this. He felt like a child, still traumatized by the man who had ruled his life. The knife scars on his body all ached at once.

When he sat up, he found Andrew watching him from the end of the couch. Nathaniel slowly sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t ask why Andrew was in the living room in the middle of the night.

Andrew said, “Remember that book we read in the fourth grade? ‘Anatomy of a Fox’? You loved it.”

Nathaniel nodded slowly. He remembered. He’d checked it out of the library one day and had told Andrew all about it. It was a chapter book about a grumpy fox who liked living alone. One day, the fox’s den was destroyed by humans. He went on a journey to find a new place for a den, and on the way he meant a variety of other animals. In the end, he chose to make a den in a place where many other animals resided, indicating that he hadn’t wanted to be alone.

“The fox’s name was Neil,” Andrew said.

Nathaniel thought about it. The answer felt right. He scooted closer to Andrew and put his arms around his shoulders. He put his forehead on the top of his shoulder and breathed him in. Andrew didn’t reject him - they’d been touching each other constantly this week, little actions here and there. But never had they been this close. It took a minute, but Andrew’s arms eventually came around the other’s back.

“I like it,” Neil said.

 

 

They decided on Neil Josten. 

It wasn’t clear how Neil would start a new life considering he was no longer in contact with anyone in the mafia, but it didn’t matter. The name was the beginning. He was hidden, for now, and with the money Neil had taken from the Wesninskis, there was no need to be on the grid.

Andrew told Nicky and Aaron that Nathaniel’s real name was actually Neil, and that they should call him Neil now. Nicky was quick on the uptake and Aaron rarely spoke to Neil in the first place, so the change was fast and natural.

On Tuesdays, Andrew sparred with a girl named Renee. She was a pretty, small girl with short hair and piercing eyes. Neil didn’t like the way she looked at him, like she knew everything about him with a simple glance, so Tuesdays Neil tried his best to avoid her. However, one week, Neil decided to avoid Renee’s visit by going on a run. And, because the sparring had been pushed back by an hour, Neil met her right outside of Fox Tower.

At first, Neil tried to slip inside unnoticed. She was talking to a small group of people, and she seemed preoccupied enough. Her senses, though, were sharper than he thought.

“Neil,” she said. “Hi.” Her voice was coated with cherries and daggers. He shivered.

“Hi,” he replied.

Her hand lifted as she pointed to the people beside her. “These are my friends. Dan, Matt, and Allison.”

“Hi,” he repeated.

The tall man gave Neil a large smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Neil!” He looked friendly, and Neil decided that ‘Matt’ was the perfect name for him. “How do you know Renee?”

He didn’t really know Renee, so he kept quiet. Matt looked at Renee, who answered instead.

“He’s roommates with Andrew Minyard.”

Allison gave an empathetic sound. “Wow. Poor kid.” She looked at Neil. “How has it been? Rooming with that little monster?”

“What do you mean?” Neil asked, genuinely confused.

Dan elbowed Allison a bit. “I think she means because Andrew is a little hard to get along with… most people don’t exactly like him.”

Neil shook his head. “Andrew is my best friend. That’s why I moved into his room.”

Dan’s eyebrows lifted. “Wait, really?”

Neil nodded.

“Well… wow. I didn’t know Andrew would have any other friends beside his brother and cousin.” She really looked at Neil now, as if she were inspecting him. “Interesting.”

Uncomfortable with being scrutinized, Neil mumbled a goodbye and went into Fox Tower. He hopped the stairs two at a time and went into the dorm as fast as he could.

Andrew was sitting on the couch. He looked at Neil blankly. Neil sat beside him and grabbed a pillow to his chest.

“College students are terrorizing,” Neil said, only half joking.

“A bunch of non-teen, non-adults who sit around smoking weed and going to class in pajamas are not scary.”

“No. People who are nice are scary.”

Andrew stared at him. “Are you saying I’m not nice?”

Neil laughed.

Though he was still staring, Andrew lifted a hand to Neil’s cheek. At first, he laid his hand there. A few moments passed. Then he pinched Neil’s cheek and stretched it a bit.

“Ow! Ugh, so rude.”

“Don’t laugh like that,” Andrew said.

“How am I supposed to laugh?”

“You know what? Just don’t laugh at all.”

Neil couldn’t help it - he laughed anyway. Andrew’s logic had always made no sense.

“Shut up.”

Neil’s grin remained. Andrew left the room.

It felt like a win.

A day later, the two of them ventured up to the roof. Well, Andrew ventured. Neil followed up the steps in confusion until he realized they were headed to the very top. Andrew jiggled the door a bit until it unhinged, creaked and opened.

It was sunset, though the day was missing any hints of orange. Instead, the sky was heavily coated in pink and purple and a dark blue that connected to night. Fox Tower was tall. The view stretched further than campus, exhibiting large trees and scattered buildings in the distance. 

“Wow,” Neil said. 

Andrew found a seat near the edge and pulled out a cigarette.

Neil looked at the view then back at Andrew. “You’re scared of heights, Andrew. Should you be up here?”

“Leave it to you to remember the unimportant shit.”

“Everything about you is important.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. 

The smell of smoke encased them as Andrew exhaled. It was a new thing, subtle, but Neil was finding comfort in it. 

“Do you think I should enroll for classes?” Neil asked.

“Why?”

“Well, you’ll be here for awhile, right? I should actually become a student before someone notices I’m living here. I’d just have to find someone who could fake my documents first.”

The wind was soft yet chilly. The air was quiet - Andrew had turned to look at Neil, but he didn’t respond. For once, there was no hardness in his eyes. He was truly looking at Neil, acknowledging his presence. Neil tilted his head at him, unable to understand.

“You are a pipe dream,” Andrew said. He inhaled. Exhaled. Looked over the roof as he said, “I’d like to kiss you.”

“You can.”

Andrew shook his head. “You left before, remember? I won’t repeat history.”

“I’d do it again,” Neil said. Andrew didn’t even glance his way. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Andrew stubbed his cigarette against the rooftop cement and left. Neil looked over the edge and momentarily wished he could fly.

 

 

He ran that night. Far. Farther than he’d meant to go. 

It was hours into his run when he tripped. His knees hit gravel and his hands caught the rest of him, burning as the ground scratched along his skin. He grunted and tried to sit up. The muscles in his right leg spasmed, as if on cue, and he hissed. It took him a few minutes to get his bearings as the pain slowly subsided. 

Neil looked around, but the environment was something he did not know. He hadn’t meant to be so oblivious to his surroundings. He’d just known he had to run.

Run to cool off, run to think. As he’d kept going, he thought about Andrew and his father and all the things pushed him and pulled him. He’d wanted to force the pain away, fill it with another type of agony. And now his body shuddered with the consequences.

He began to retrace his steps, but all he could do was walk. It would take him hours to get back, but he persisted with silent patience. It was his fault for being distracted, his fault for losing time.

It was close to two in the morning when he got to campus. His legs felt like fire. He dreamt about a cold bath, or at the very least an ice pack.

Of course, he couldn’t even get to the bathroom. Andrew sat on the couch. There was a stiffness around them, like if one of them spoke they’d explode.

Neil was beginning to feel his will crumble. He sat on the couch and tried to keep his mouth shut. Andrew was quiet.

Neil broke first.

“I don’t want to run away again. Not if I can help it. I want to stay. Here. I want to enroll in classes and stay with you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything else but to stay. It’s okay if I can’t, though. I -” Neil’s hands were shaking. His legs hurt. His hands hurt. He hoped he wasn’t dreaming - the exhaustion was a thick cloud around him. He gripped the fabric on his thighs and forced his nerves to calm. “I have to know. Either way. Will you let me?”

“I’ve said it before,” Andrew said.

“I know, but -”

“Come here.”

Neil moved himself closer to Andrew on the couch. His gaze was unreadable, but Neil felt himself absolutely lost in it. Even in the dimness of the room, the early morning hours wrapped around them like soothing shadows. 

Andrew took Neil’s hand and placed it over Neil’s own chest.

“Do you feel that?” Andrew asked.

Neil’s heart was pounding beneath his skin, faster than normal. He guessed it was from the long run.

Neil nodded, but he said, “It doesn’t feel real, though.”

“You’re here, Neil. And you’re real. You are annoyingly real.”

They both leaned forward. 

When they were younger, when they’d been torn apart by something cruel and ugly, the two had kissed. It had been pleading, desperate, a goodbye and a question.

Now, it was different. There were no thoughts, nothing besides the sudden urge to get closer, to be close, to know everything he had never known about Andrew. The way he moved his lips, the way he broke away then came back, more charged than before. Andrew was a force against Neil, unmoving. Everything about him was take and give, and Neil took and gave right back. It was all hard and determined, but not angry. Not angry at all.

They were like that for awhile, Neil’s tongue exploring things he never had before. He thought at one point he heard Andrew grunt or growl or something close to it, but it was difficult to tell among the rush of energy. Neil decided he liked the taste of Andrew’s mouth. Teeth bit at his tongue and lips and Neil melted right there on the couch.

Eventually, Andrew leaned back. Neil couldn’t quite catch his breath, so for once there was no smartass quip as he breathed in and out into the small space between them.

“Stop overthinking things,” Andrew said. “It’s not your style.”

Everything Andrew had wanted to say was right there - in the kiss, in the way he had gripped Neil’s shirt, in his words. Neil got the message and, for once, actually relaxed.

He said, “Okay.”

 

 

Andrew asked Renee, Renee asked her friends, and Allison had the answer.

“She’s a pretty mysterious person,” Allison had said, looking at her nails. “I don’t even know her real name. But she’s done some wonderfully terrible things for my father. I’ll get you the documents.”

Neil told her everything he needed - a birth certificate, a social security number, a license, a passport, a high school diploma and transcripts. He told her his name (just Neil Josten, the middle name still a closely-guarded secret) and all the details that he preferred.

“Should be easy,” Allison told him.

And it was. Only two and half weeks later, Allison came to the dorm room and delivered the envelope of contents. 

He didn’t know why he’d trusted her, but he had. Andrew trusted Renee and Renee trusted Allison. It was horrifying to let someone else, someone he barely knew, know that he wasn’t who he really said he was. But Allison, nor Dan or Matt or Renee, ever asked Neil for details. They just accepted the facts as what they were, and Neil felt immensely grateful.

Andrew found Neil sitting in a bean bag chair with the envelope an hour later. He’d opened it and peeked inside already, but the revolution of what was really inside made him stop. He’d seen that name again, Neil Josten, and it just sat like a dagger in his heart.

Without asking, Andrew took the envelope from Neil. He looked at the papers one by one, put them neatly aside, and kissed Neil. 

It all felt very, very real.

Afterwards, Neil asked, “Wait. How do I apply for college?”

Andrew shrugged. “Who knows? Nicky applied for me. It was a requirement of parole.”

“You call me a hot mess, but I think the script could be flipped.”

“Don’t compare apples and oranges.”

“They’re both fruits.”

“You’re a smartass, Josten.”

“I’m witty. There’s a difference.”

“If you ever managed to say one witty thing, I’d actually be amazed.”

Neil leaned forward to speak lowly into Andrew’s ear. “I can find other ways to amaze you.”

Andrew shivered.

 

 

It was unexpected, but Neil actually really liked Renee’s friends. He didn’t exactly get along with Aaron. The twin brother was suspicious of Neil, and he almost always ignored his presence. Nicky was kind and Neil didn’t mind him, but Nicky was also a bit too loud for him. Renee still made him uncomfortable. But the others? They were people Neil actually liked being around.

After continuously dying of boredom, Neil was glad he finally had another group of people to hang out with. Dan helped him apply to Palmetto for the spring semester, Allison caught him up on pop culture, and Matt always gave Neil advice and encouraged him about things that often seemed insignificant.

Though he wasn’t with them too often, there were times throughout the week where he went over for a movie or a game or cards. They invited him to do more but he declined. It was still a little hard for him to process that this was his life now. That all of this wasn’t fake.

When Neil got like that, though - when he couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep - he found solace in Andrew.

Because Andrew was as real as it got.

 

 

It happened in Columbia.

A few weeks prior, the cousins had taken Neil to their club of choice, Eden’s Twilight. Neil wasn’t much of a club person (actually, he’d only ever gone to clubs to observe future victims of the Wesninskis), but he’d agreed to go. It seemed harmless.

And it actually had been fun. Besides the cracker dust, which was mostly for Aaron’s benefit, the whole night had been easygoing. Neil simply stayed beside Andrew and talked to him as the cousins knocked back shots. While he only really drank soda, Neil even let himself drink a bit of whiskey, ignoring the way it reminded him of healing his own wounds. Sometimes, Aaron’s friend Kevin Day would tag along. The upperclassmen never came, and Neil didn’t ask about it.

So Columbia became a weekend occurrence. Neil’s personal favorite part of the night was the house, a spacious and quiet space for the four of them to spend the night. They’d spend the night out and come back to the comfort of their beds. Sometimes, Andrew took Neil to his room and took him apart.

Those were his favorite nights.

The Friday started just like the others had - the car ride, ice cream, then Eden’s. 

They downed shots at their table. Nicky talked and danced. Aaron minded his own business and eventually left to venture around the club.

Music thumped around them but it was a comforting beat. Neil’s chest shook and he looked at Andrew like he always did, with admiration and pride. Andrew saw him looking and shoved his face away. Neil tried to hide his smile beneath his hand but Andrew noticed and rolled his eyes.

“You’re like a child looking at something shiny,” Andrew said.

“Did you just call yourself shiny?”

“Aren’t I, though?”

“Why are you only funny when no one else is around?” Neil asked.

“Because they’ll never believe you.”

“Pure evil,” Neil said, though he leaned forward as he said it and pressed a smooth kiss against Andrew’s lips. 

Andrew straightened when they pulled apart. “I’m going to the bathroom. Try not to die while I’m gone.”

Neil shook his head and watched him walk away. He sipped on his soda and waited. Eventually, Nicky came back to set down a few more shots.

“Here, I got this round so Andrew wouldn’t have to.” Nicky took one for himself and sat beside Neil. “Where is he?”

“Bathroom.” Neil looked around. He realized very absently that it had been a few minutes. “I’m going to go tell him you’ve got more shots.”

Nicky patted him on the back and laughed loudly. “Use a condom!”

Neil ignored him and headed through the thick crowd to reach the restrooms in the back. There were a few men at the urinals but no one was in the stalls. Andrew wasn’t in there.

It really wasn’t that weird. Andrew could have been at the bar, or maybe they had crossed paths on his way to the restroom. Despite the multitude of explanations, Neil suddenly felt uncomfortable. He credited a six sense of sorts, just the smallest of an instinct.

He went back to the table to find Aaron sitting with Nicky. Though they were a bit past tipsy, Neil asked them if they’d seen Andrew and they both said no. Neil scanned the club and the dance floor for any sign of him. The longer he looked, the more he hardened. His exterior was turning to stone. He felt the same as when he had stalked men in the past, right before he killed them.

Neil went back past the bar and the restrooms to one of the emergency exits. The door had a sign that read, “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” Neil put his hand flat against it and pushed just a little. It moved, proving that the last person out the door had not closed it all the way. Neil slipped out the door and found himself in the back alley. It was cold out for late spring. 

There were voices just a few feet away, though Neil couldn’t see anyone. He followed the sounds around the back corner to find another hidden alleyway, this one farther from the noise of the club.

He also found Andrew on his knees, his arms bound behind his back, a bruise forming over his eye and blood dripping from his lip and cheek.

Standing behind Andrew was Jackson, and in front of him was Lola. Lola pointed her gun at Andrew’s face and didn’t even move it when she noticed Neil. Neil saw that the gun had a silencer. Besides the two, there were two more men that Neil did not recognize.

“Oh, Nathaniel, perfect timing. I’m going to borrow you for a little bit, okay? Your father requests your company.” She was chewing gum, as if this were just another simple day in her life.

Neil looked into Andrew’s eyes and immediately saw meaning in them. Andrew was telling him not to go. It was clear as day.

Neil summoned as much fake confidence as he could. He breathed out and told himself it would be fine. He looked Lola in the eye and pretended he was tough, that he was strong and he would not, could not, leave Andrew again. Because he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“I’m not going,” Neil said.

“Oh?” Lola blinked with lazy surprise. “Are you sure you won’t go?”

Andrew’s eyes stayed on Neil the whole time. There was a cloth tied around his face that settled in his mouth, preventing him from speaking. Still, Neil saw everything in that look. He saw a demand to stay, he saw the memory of Neil promising not to leave again, he saw home.

“No. I won’t.”

Lola shot Andrew in the leg like she were getting rid of a bug. Andrew grunted into the gag and shifted. Blood spilled from his thigh.

Neil was breaking. He was crumbling, every part inside him decaying, and he felt his will folding open.

As if sensing this, Andrew struggled against the bonds. His shoulders were like mountains and they ripped and pulled, but nothing worked. Andrew looked at Neil with anger and determination. Neil knew he would survive the bullet wound. He knew it. But he saw the blood pouring and it was too much, too much.

Neil could barely bring himself to repeat himself. “I… I won’t go, Lola.”

Lola looked at Neil for a bit, as if accessing what would break him. 

Then she shot Andrew again, this time in the shoulder.

“Stop!” Neil choked. Something similar to a sob ripped through him. He could not help himself - he couldn’t even think against the panic. “Stop, stop, stop. Just, fuck -”

Lola said, “The next shot goes in his head.”

Neil could barely breathe. It was all too much. There was a roaring in his ears as he looked at Andrew, who moved slower than before. Andrew’s eyes could barely stay open. He was slumped at a weird angle, just a mess of blood across the pavement.

Lola’s gun moved closer to Andrew’s head. Andrew looked tired. He blinked his eyes open a bit, looking confused, and then found Neil’s gaze. Neil didn’t even realize his own cheeks were wet.

“I’ll count to three, Nathaniel. One -”

“I’ll go!” Neil said, his chest seizing. “I’ll go, okay?”

Andrew watched him carefully. Neil looked at him one last time before turning away.

Lola grinned. “Excellent.”

 

 

There was screaming. The ground was cold.

“Andrew! Andrew, fuck, holy shit, Aaron, what do we do?! Shit, shit.” Nicky sounded as if he were scrambling.

Small hands touched throat.

“He’s alive,” Aaron said.

“My name is Nicky Hemmick and my cousin is hurt outside of Eden’s Twilight in downtown Columbia. It looks like… bullet holes. Yes. I don’t know. Okay -”

Andrew tried to tell them but his mouth felt full. His throat felt cloudy.

“Andrew,” Aaron said. “Nicky and I are here.”

He opened his eyes. He couldn’t feel the pain. He only knew one thing.

Andrew’s good arm snapped out and gripped Aaron by the upper arm. Aaron gasped. Andrew squeezed as tight as he could. He needed his brother to understand the urgency.

“Find him,” he said.

 

 

It was all stars and ugly cries. Heat and vicious nails on rough skin. 

The night felt unfair.

Neil thought, though, that he should have known better. This was clearly where he would end up. It had been terrible to hope. To make it worse, he had dragged Andrew down with him.

That’s why he didn’t think about the pain. Instead, he imagined what Andrew must be feeling. Anger, maybe. Pain from the bullet wounds - Neil knew how it felt to be shot. It was not something easy to forgot.

Lola tried her best to make him talk, but she forgot he had been raised a Wesninski. 

His father had always said one thing: the mouth that speaks sews its own stitch.

He couldn’t really hear what she was asking, anyway. Questions about his fake death, about his uncle and about Andrew. It all slipped through him. He fought against the bounds of his imprisonment but ultimately paid the price of hot pressed kisses to sweat-drenched cheeks.

The ride was long, and Lola stopped every once in awhile. Still, she persisted like she were on a hunt, hungry and unforgiving. She did not stop at the simple press of a dashboard lighter. No, she pressed the thing to every inch of his arms, covered the skin in burn by burn. When he tried to look back at his bound arm he could see the little circles, side by side in formation, cruel raised roads along a once flat surface. It felt a bit like the skin of his arms were melting, dripping onto the dark carpet of the car. At some point, Neil swore he felt his flesh fall off in chunks, but it was simply the fever dream, a dark and nasty world that pulled him under. He followed the hallucination by vomiting in the car, earning a string of curses from his captors.

He passed out. Not because he wanted to, but because it was impossible to be awake in the midst of rotten pain. 

When he woke, he felt Andrew’s name on his lips but he did not let it fall. Instead, he welcomed the agony of his body, a quick reminder that he was alive.

“We’re here,” Lola whispered into his ear, a snake behind him, and Neil tried not to shiver. Her voice was drenched in joy.

The house in Baltimore was as he remembered it. Grand and forbidding, the entrance bore a front gate and long driveway. The night was dark and quiet, not a hush upon the neighborhood. The house held brick and gold, though was only one grand floor of design rather than two.

Jackson pulled all the way into the garage and Lola let Neil out. She moved to grab his wrist after he stepped out but he moved away fast, unwilling to be touched while in so much pain. She just laughed.

“Nathaniel, sweetheart. You are a fool.”

They took him inside where the scent of fear cascaded him all at once. It was the memory of fear, the smell of his father, a scent that had always made him shrink within the confines of this house. The flash off a bloody axe as it came downing, blame written across Neil’s own heart.

They went to the basement. This, Neil knew, was where The Butcher of Baltimore killed his victims. Neil knew. He’d watched many times.

His will was coming to a halt. It wasn’t death that scared him so much. It was the idea of torture, the everlasting smack of blades against bone.

Neil refused to go through the basement door, but they shoved him with a force he couldn’t fight. They practically dragged him down the steps, and his shoulders almost snapped with the force.

There was no big reveal, no time to collect his thoughts or figure out a plan.

Nathan Wesninski was already in the basement.

“Nathaniel, come, don’t be so troublesome.”

Neil fought harder. Lola laughed. Jackson pushed him forward and Neil fell to his knees.

The wall was cracking.

Nathan Wesninski’s blade was sharp even in the dim light.

Neil tried to crawl away but his father pinned him down. Lola grabbed his arms and he screamed at the pressure against the burns. Nathan smiled down at him. The blade flashed beautifully above him.

“Let’s not waste time.”

 

 

The first hour was not the worst. His father did not touch his raw arms. Instead, he cut across the rest of his body, carving very shallow lines that just barely bled. It was something he could survive.

In the second hour, Nathan said something about Andrew, so Neil spit into his father’s face. His father returned the favor with a hammer to his kneecap. Neil had never screamed so hard in his life.

Somewhere in the fourth hour, Neil was coming in and out of consciousness. He heard things like:

“Do you want your hands, Nathaniel? Or perhaps your feet are more useful to you, because you like to run so much?”

“I could end it now. I could slit your throat while you laid here pathetically.”

“Was it worth it to run away? To save one young girl’s life?”

“You’re a shame to the Wesninski name.”

He slept.

 

 

“How haven’t they found him yet?” Andrew asked, gritting his teeth.

“You only said Baltimore. That’s not exactly an address, Andrew.”

It was almost a whole day after he’d been shot. Andrew had spent the morning in surgery, but there had been no complications. Andrew guessed the woman who’d shot him knew exactly where she’d aimed, purposefully missing any important bones or arteries. The blood had made it look terrible, and yes, it was bad, but it wasn’t enough to bring death.

He’d woken up early afternoon to a throbbing leg, a throbbing shoulder, and the news that it would be a few weeks before he could walk without assistance. Their options were a wheelchair, crutches or a cane. He went with the third, though it would be another day or so before he could really get walking.

It was when they let Aaron and Nicky in that Andrew was able to get the answers he actually wanted. Nicky had no astounding news for him, and despite being bound to a hospital bed, he wanted to choke him out.

“Nathan Wesninski has a house in Baltimore. Did you send them there?”

“Of course,” Nicky replied. “But they knocked and his housekeeper answered, saying Wesninski wasn’t home. If they go in, they’ll need a warrant.”

“Fuck,” Andrew hissed. He thought as hard as he could and then remembered the one thing that could possibly help. “Hand me my phone.”

Nicky did as he was told and Andrew scrolled through his contacts. He came across a name in his contacts and hit Call.

 

 

The floor was clean. That’s what Neil hated about sleeping on it. It smelt like cleaning products and bleach and it was absolutely distressing to breathe in as he slept. At some point, he tried to stop breathing but the aftereffects of his wounds forced his nose to work. Even worse, his hands were bound. To avoid laying on his arms, Neil constantly laid on his stomach, cheek pressed flat.

It was when Neil turned his head in the middle of the night that he witnessed the first small crossing of excitement. It wasn’t enough for hope nor success, but just the idea of something annoying Nathan’s plans was enough to make Neil happy.

It was a long, thick nail, still steel and clean, like it had recently rolled off a tool shelf.

While it took Neil awhile to get to it, once he had it in his tied-back hands, he felt energetic. He didn’t really expect to escape, yet he planned for it anyway. He would not die here without resisting, without fighting. It was the least he could do for Andrew.

His knee was out of use and his arms were burned raw, but so what? He still had hands, still had feet and legs and a brain. He’d crawl out if he had to. But he would not lay here and wait for the next time his father came down, only to beat his head in with a meat beater. 

The basement door opened. Neil momentarily wondered what time it was before focusing on the sound of someone coming down the stairs. It was light footsteps, simple and fluent. Neil guessed it was Lola.

He pretended to be asleep and laid still against the ground. Her feet neared his head. He held his breath.

She kicked him in the side and he couldn’t help it - Neil groaned and rolled over.

Lola was smirking above him. “Good morning, Nathaniel.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Neil spat back, but his throat felt like chalk and his tone came out less threatening than he’d wanted.

Without even a breath of hesitation, Lola poked her foot at Neil’s ruined knee. He gasped.

“Okay, okay,” he said, breathless. He wiggled his leg out of her way and she let him move it away.

She talked for a bit, humorless things and promises of torture. Neil wasn’t listening. He was thinking about the imprint of the nail on his palm. He was squeezing it so tightly in his bound hands. But there wasn’t any way his hands wound make it to Lola’s face unless he tried.

After a bit of prodding, Lola cracked her neck and ran her hand along the basement shelves.

“The boss told me I could have some fun before he made it down here today. He’s got some other business to attend to.” Her fingers trailed over a small axe.

“Why don’t we have an equal fight? No weapons,” Neil suggested.

Her eyes scanned his wrecked body then landed on his face. “You misunderstand, Nathaniel. We do not negotiate. We are torturers first, fighters second.” She grabbed the axe off the shelf. “Giving you equal opportunity is boring. I want to see you beneath me, crying.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yes, I am.”

She was coming closer. The axe looked dull. Neil had to act as fast as he possibly could. When she was close enough, just in reach of his feet, he used his good leg to kick her calf with the force of his entire body. Lola cursed and fell to the floor before him. He scrambled to move, even moving on his useless leg, which burned with agony. He rolled atop Lola as fast as he could, and the second her head lifted to get up, he head-butted her.

Something within her must have snapped. She screamed with fury as the crack of their skulls resonated between them. Without mercy, without hesitation, Neil twisted himself atop her. He aligned them so his hands found her face, and then, with as must force as he could muster, Neil shoved the nail into her face.

There was no screaming anymore. Not even a whimper. 

Neil got up and hopped over to the countertops. He backed into the counter and maneuvered his body to get a hold of a small knife. For a few minutes he moved the knife against the zip ties which bound him. He tried not to look at the nail, lodged almost perfectly into Lola’s forehead.

After a bit of wrestling with the knife, Neil was free. He immediately pulled himself onto the counter and pushed aside the curtain hiding the basement window. He had been eyeing it for hours now, and it was likely his only way out.

The wretch for the lock was practically burned into place, probably never once used before, but all it took was Neil’s whole weight to unlock it. The window popped open and the fresh air billowed in. Neil was sloppy and quick in his actions - he grabbed the window and pulled himself up all at once, eventually forcing himself into the dying, brown grass of the backyard.

He had to lie there for a moment to catch his breath. The adrenaline was coursing through him, yet the crash was just as fast. He could barely breathe.

The stars were out, a deep blue sky above him. He had actually believed Lola when she’d said it was morning. 

“Nathaniel!”

Nathan Wesninski’s voice was distinct. The scream came from the basement, from the small window he’d just crawled out of.

Neil tried to get up but his injured leg was unusable. It contorted with so much pain, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to use it again. Panic fell from his mouth and his breath became jagged and everything within him was bursting, bursting, bursting.

All he could do was crawl. He gripped the grass and pulled himself away. At some point he tried to hop on his good leg, but he kept falling. He was scrambling when he heard the back door open.

He could see his father. The large, looming shadow he’d always been terrified of.

Gunshots rang through the cloudless sky.

Neil viciously covered his face with his hands, shaking as shot after shot rang around him, so petrified that a single, soundless sob ripped from his chest.

It took a few moments of cowering to realize Nathan Wesninski had not shot him dead. Instead, his father was on the ground, green grass bleeding red around him. The sight seemed fake.

“Nathaniel,” someone else said. It took awhile for him to recognize the voice. It was Stuart.

The young man smiled as he looked up at his uncle. Sirens wailed in the distance

“My name’s Neil,” he corrected.

 

 

The following days brought pain, and that was it.

Consciousness came and went. Pain lingered and dispersed.

He knew he had surgery because he woke up to a nurse’s explanation, a soothing voice as he panicked.

She said he’d be able to use his leg eventually. She said he should rest. So he did.

Neil also knew that Andrew Minyard was alive, because it was the first thing he asked when he woke up again. The agent in the room told him, yes, Minyard was alive and well, but that was all the man was willing to give.

Neil, aching and tired and pouring with relief, didn’t ask more.

When the nurses redid his bandages, Neil didn’t look. The fact that his burns hurt almost more than his broken knee meant he didn’t want to see the damage. A few cuts on his chest had needed stitches and it was a miracle he had no infections.

The agents asked a lot but Neil only had energy for a few answers. Yes, Nathan Wesninski tortured him. Yes, Nathan Wesninski killed people. Yes, Nathan Wesninski was a monster. Yes, yes, yes.

Out of respect, Neil didn’t mention Stuart. They didn’t ask Neil about his mother, which was strange, but he decided not to ask about it.

It was two days after Nathan’s death that the agent mentioned it.

“Your mother has passed away.”

Neil looked at the man beside his bed. “What?”

“We found traces of her blood in the basement. They just found her body in the harbor. She’s been dead for about two weeks.”

Neil gently laid back on the hospital bed. He looked at the off-white ceiling and felt the quiet buzz of the hospital room around him. The agent said something. Bandaged fingers covered his face. He breathed in, out. Swallowed whatever he was feeling.

“When can I get out of the hospital?” Neil asked. “I limped to the bathroom this morning. They can send me home on crutches.”

The agent looked at him. “We have to discuss witness protection.”

“No. I told you already. I want to legally change my name and go back to Palmetto.”

“The Wesninski’s connections are endless, Nathaniel. Someone will eventually try to find you and hurt you.”

“Let them try,” Neil shot back. “I’ve only been scared of one man in my life and he’s dead.”

“Look at you, Nathaniel. You were basically one hit away from dying. Andrew Minyard was shot twice because of your connections. Don’t you think -”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” His anger bled through him as he looked at the agent. “You need me as a witness and I’m willing to recall all of it for you, as long as I can go back. So either give me the fucking legal documents and work with me, or leave me alone for the rest of my life and let me figure shit out on my own. I don’t mind either way.” He leaned back and breathed out, agitated. His knee had begun to throb while he lashed out. “And my name is Neil. So call me that or call me nothing.”

“I can charge you for aiding and abetting a criminal.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna charge a murderer’s son for being scared to tattle on his abusive father?” Neil indiciated the bandages on his face and arms. “A jury will love that.”

It was quiet for a bit. The agent sighed and texted something on his phone. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed. The agent read the text then looked at the boy on the bed.

“Alright, Neil. Where should we start?”

 

 

It was only a few hours later when a doctor told Neil he had a visitor.

Neil knew it couldn’t be Stuart - his uncle was staying far away from the federal agent-infested hospital. Sure, Stuart had connections, but Neil knew he wouldn’t be seeing his uncle for a long while.

So that only left one option. Neil barely had time to prepare himself before the door opened. He sat up in the bed and watched as Andrew pushed toward him with the help of a cane. The cane was black with four small legs at the bottom of it for extra support. 

Neil tried to smile, just a little, but it didn’t work. “We should get you one of those cool canes,” he said, and his voice shook. “Like one with a skeleton head as the handle.”

Andrew didn’t reply. He came closer and stopped beside the bed. Everyone else who’d been in the room left.

This was normal. Silence around Andrew was common. Yet, Neil couldn’t handle it. He felt guilty, felt relieved and confused and scared, though he wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t want to be rejected and he didn’t want to think about how this was his own fault. Andrew had been hurt because of him and the effects of it would not fade for a long time.

Neil opened his mouth, likely to say something stupid again, but Andrew took off the thin hospital blanket and looked at his injuries. 

Andrew pointed at Neil’s knee and the white cast in place. Neil said, “Broken knee.”

Accepting that, Andrew then took the bandages off Neil’s face. There were a few and the tape overlapped on some. Neil knew the nurses would be annoyed that he’d taken them off.

Andrew’s stare was blank as he absorbed the small, red circles scattered across Neil’s face. His hand gripped the bedsheet. He moved to take the bandages off Neil’s arms but Neil stopped him.

“It’s, uh, - you should probably leave those for now.”

Andrew looked at his arms, as if trying to see through the cloth, then looked back up at Neil’s face.

Neil was losing his nerve and he felt himself getting antsy. “Are you okay?”

This seemed to break the spell. “Am I okay?” Andrew repeated.

It maybe wasn’t the right thing to say. “It’s a fair question. You were shot. Twice.” Neil thought back to it. The desperation. He’d never wanted to protect someone as much as he wanted to protect Andrew. 

Neil could see Andrew’s expression shift. His eyes became less focused and his teeth clenched, protruding his jawline. His body shook, just slightly, just enough to notice.

“Well, let’s see,” Andrew started. “You get taken by your abusers, the same people who kill without a second thought, no one can find you for days, you come back after having the shit kicked out of you, half-fucking-dead. Am I okay? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

By this point, Andrew was shaking a bit harder, more visibly. Neil wasn’t sure if it was just the anger. He reached out and slid his fingers into Andrew’s hand.

“I’m okay, Andrew,” he said. 

“Just - don’t. You’re not.” Neil opened his mouth but Andrew cut him off. “You’re not.”

“Maybe I’m not. But I will be.”

Andrew shook his head and looked at the wall. It took him a long minute to say anything.

“That’s the third time,” Andrew said. His voice was deep and rough and angry. “I have lost you three times now.”

After all this, after all he’d survived, Neil refused to break. He turned to face the window, hands limp in his lap. He thought of everything he’d put Andrew through, all the shit Andrew got, and it took every ounce of willpower for him not to crumble right then and there. 

His voice was low and ashamed when he said, “I’m sorry.”

Time passed in quiet. Neil eventually felt the bed shift and turned to find Andrew sitting at his side. Without pause, Andrew wrapped his arms around Neil’s waist to his back and pulled him in as tight as he could.

“Don’t be,” Andrew told him.

Neil didn’t even think about the pain in his hands and arms. He put his arms around Andrew’s shoulders and gripped his back as tight as he could, clinging, anguished, gasping in cooling consolation. They shifted, grabbing tighter and tighter, almost harsh as they reconciled.

There was nothing in the world more reassuring than being in Andrew’s grasp. Everything about him was home and comfort, and Neil had never felt more safe.

 

 

Though it was hard, Neil spent the next hour or so recalling what he’d went through. A few chunks of time were absent from his memory, and he had to pause once or twice to stop the fear from crumbling around him, but eventually Neil got through it. Every gory detail, from the dashboard lighter to the knives to the hammer on his knee, the murder of Lola and eventually the satisfying yet overwhelming death of his father.

When he was done, Andrew left for a little while, unable to say another word. His eyes had been empty. Neil knew better than to stop him.

Eventually Nicky and Aaron came to see him, explaining that they’d driven Andrew up here the second he got the cane. Apparently, he’d need a few weeks of healing but Andrew didn’t have to do physical therapy like Neil did.

Andrew came back after only a few minutes with bloody knuckles and vending machine snacks. Nicky went to grab one but Andrew slapped his hand away.

“Uh, rude,” Nicky complained.

“Do you have a broken bone? No? Then you can get yourself something.” Andrew tossed Neil one of those plain peanut-butter cracker snacks and opened up a chocolate bar for himself.

Neil indicated toward Andrew’s hand. “Are we going to hear a complaint about broken plaster?”

“No. The only victim was a bathroom stall door, and it didn’t break.”

“Smart,” Neil replied, though later in the night he asked the nurse for a few band-aids and attempted to cover the bloody skin.

He was released the next day with crutches, a medication prescription, a recommendation for a physical therapist closer to Palmetto, the promise of federal documents that would be mailed to the dorm (addressed to ‘Neil Josten’), and the watchful eye of multiple agents.

Neil sat in the back seat beside Andrew, who couldn’t drive because of his leg. The trip would be long, and even longer because Neil’s doctor wanted him out of the car and walking every other hour. They brought snacks and listened to music on the highway. Even Nicky was quiet, enjoying himself as he drove.

The day blended from the softest blue to eventual orange and pink and purple. Through sleep-dazed eyes, Neil woke up when the sky was dark and street lights showcased the university before them. He leaned off of Andrew’s shoulder and looked at him.

“Andrew,” he said, quiet under the passing lights. “We’re back.”

Andrew opened his eyes and blinked at him. Neil grinned. Andrew’s hand lifted to brush Neil’s hair from his face, then his thumb came down to Neil’s lips. As if bewitched, blessed by the shadows in the car, Neil leaned forward and kissed Andrew as quietly as he could.

Neil felt at peace.

And it wouldn’t be easy. Neil knew that. When Andrew changed his arm bandages for the first time, he vomited and panicked as if he were still beneath Lola’s hands. His nightmares were everlasting. Their traumas breathed through them, memories forever tied around their wrists. They’d go to therapy and have good and bad days. Neil sometimes couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, and Andrew sometimes truly didn’t believe Neil was really there. Their legs took time to heal, and they would always be affected by it all.

Still, when he felt Andrew’s skin against his, when he saw the gold of his eyes or heard the rough gravel of his voice, when he felt the key of their first apartment in his hand or saw the sun wash through Andrew’s blond hair, Neil couldn’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UM yeah so this took a long time probably because i've never written such a long chapter and it's double the length of part 1 so i'm sorry for the wait but i'm glad i got to finish this !!! thanks for sticking with it and showing interest on tumblr :")

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @anddreil!


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